m  t  f  ? 


3™iS3    002fe0221    2 


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http://www.archive.org/details/josephrushbrookoOOmarr 


THE  NOVELS 

OF 

CAPTAIN   MARRYAT 

EDITED    BY 

R.  BRIMLEY    JOHNSON 


This  Edition  of  Captain  Marry  a?  s  Novels, 

made  exclusively  for  members  of  the 

NEW  YORK  YACHT  CLUB 

is  strictly  limited  to  one  hundred  copies. 


"m€^%i^t2<^L-*~QPaj 


Copy  No.  /  O 

PRINTED  FOR 

H.  A.  VAN  HEW,  Esq. 


NEW  YORK  YACHT  CLUB  EDITION 


JOSEPH      RUSHBROOK 


OR 


THE    POACHER 


BY 
CAPTAIN   MARRY  AT 


NEW  YORK 

CROSCUP  AND  COMPANY 

MDCCCXCVI 


Contents 


. 

PAGE 

Chapter  i                                    .             < 

I 

Chapter  ii 

> 

7 

Chapter  hi 

i3 

Chapter  iv 

17 

Chapter  v 

23 

Chapter  vi 

27 

Chapter  vii 

34 

Chapter  vhi 

37 

Chapter  ix 

40 

Chapter  x 

47 

Chapter  xi 

55 

Chapter  xii 

61 

Chapter  xiii 

64 

Chapter  xiv 

73 

Chapter  xv 

79 

Chapter  xvi 

90 

Chapter  xvii 

93 

Chapter  xvih 

99 

Chapter  xix 

104 

Chapter  xx 

108 

Chapter  xxi 

"3 

Chapter  xxii    . 

a 

118 

Chapter  xxiii  „ 

a 

4 

132 

VI 


Contents 


PAGE 

Chapter  xxiv                 .             «              , 

I4O 

Chapter  xxv     . 

145 

Chapter  xxvi    . 

X54 

Chapter  xxvii                                             . 

165 

Chapter  xxviii                .              .             . 

I78 

Chapter  xxix    -              .              .              , 

I96 

Chapter  xxx                                             . 

202 

Chapter  xxxi                 .             .             . 

207 

Chapter  xxxii  . 

212 

Chapter  xxxiii  . 

215 

Chapter  xxxiv  . 

224 

Chapter  xxxv  .. 

234 

Chapter  xxxvi                                            , 

24O 

Chapter  xxxvii               .              „             , 

, 

246 

Chapter  xxxviii              .              .              , 

253 

Chapter  xxxix                .              . 

260 

Chapter  xl                                               , 

266 

Chapter  xli                    . 

272 

Chapter  xlh                   «, 

278 

Chapter  xliii                                . 

281 

Chapter  xliv                                .             , 

298 

Chapter  xlv                  .             .             , 

308 

Chapter  xlvi    .              •              .             < 

3*7 

Chapter  xlvii  .              «             . 

321 

Chapter  xltiii                              •             , 

326 

Chapter  xlix    .             .             .             , 

332 

Chapter  l                      *             «             , 

336 

List  of  Etchings 

The  only  reply  was  the  flash  and  report  of  the  gun    Frontispiece 


PAGE 


"It's  no  use  coming  down,  Nancy,  I  tell  you"          .  135 

"  do  you  observe  the  extreme  beauty  of  that  passage?"  2o4 

Both    Mrs    Phillips    and    Mr    Small    perceived    how 

matters  stood        .              .              .              »  260 

I  was  continually  attended  by  Miriam  *  .290 

"  Murder's  the  matter,  my  jewel  "     .              .              .  327 

Drawn  and  Etched  by  J.  Ayton  Symington. 


rti 


Prefatory  Note 


JOSEPH  Rushbrook  first  appeared  as  a  serial  in  the 
Era  newspaper,  and  subsequently  in  three  volumes,  under 
the  title  of  The  Poacher ;  brought  out  at  the  publisher's 
expense,  the  author  receiving  two-thirds  of  the  profits, 
and  ^400  in  anticipation  of  them. 

Captain  Marryat  was  abused  for  condescending  to  write 
in  a  newspaper  by  some  contributor  to  Eraser's  Magazine, 
to  whom  he  made  the  following  reply  (partially  quoted  in 
the  general  introduction  to  this  edition)  : 

"  In  your  critique  upon  Mr  Ainsworth's  Tower  of 
London,  you  have  expressed  an  opinion  that,  as  an  author, 
I  have  shown  a  want  of  self-respect  in  contributing  the 
tale  of  The  Poacher  to  this  weekly  paper.  I  will  quote 
your  words  before  I  reply  : — 

"'If  writing  monthly  fragments  threatened  to  deteriorate 
Mr  Ainsworth's  productions,  what  must  be  the  result  of 
this  hebdomadal  habit  ?  Captain  Marryat,  we  are  sorry  to 
see,  has  taken  to  the  same  line.  Both  these  popular  authors 
may  rely  upon  our  warning,  that  they  will  live  to  see  their 
laurels  fade  unless  they  more  carefully  cultivate  a  spirit  of 
self-respect.  That  which  was  venial  in  a  miserable 
starveling  of  Grub  Street  is  perfectly  disgusting  in  the  ex- 
travagantly paid  novelists  of  these  days— the  caressed  of 
generous  booksellers.  Mr  Ainsworth  and  Captain  Marryat 
ought  to  disdain  such  pit iful peddling.  Let  them  eschew  it 
without  delay.' 

"  In  other  portions  of  your  critique  you  have  stated  that 
the  serial  system  is  detrimental  to  the  reputation  of  authors, 
inasmuch  as  they  are  too  apt  to  wait  to  the  last  moment 
and  write  in  a  hurry.    I  take  up  this  single  point  first,  that 


x  Prefatory  Note 

I  may  dismiss  it  at  once,  as  far  as  regards  myself,  by 
observing  that,  whether  I  appear  hebdomadally  or  monthly, 
my  writings,  such  as  they  are,  will  be  no  better  or  worse 
than  if  they  first  appeared  in  three  volumes.  I  am  too  old 
a  sailor  to  venture  into  action  without  plenty  of  powder 
and  shot  in  the  locker  ;  the  two  first  volumes  of  this  tale 
were  written  before  one  number  appeared  in  the  Era,  and 
the  remainder  is  now  completed. 

"  You  are  not  the  only  party  who  has  ventured  to  make 
the  remark  to  me  that  they  considered  it  was  infra  dig.  that 
I  should  write  in  a  weekly  newspaper  j  but  you  certainly 
are  the  first  who  has  ventured  to  pronounce  it  as  perfectly 
disgusting  and  as  pitiful  peddling.  Had  it  not  been  for  such 
unqualified  harsh  terms,  I  probably  should  have  made  no 
reply  to  your  observations. 

"If  I  understand  rightly  the  term  pit iful  peddling,  it  would 
intimate  that  I  had  been  induced  by  a  larger  sum  than  is 
usually  offered  for  contributing  to  monthly  periodicals  to 
write  for  a  weekly  paper.  If  such  is  your  impression  you 
are  very  much  in  error  ;  for  I  now  assert,  and,  were  it  worth 
the  trouble,  could  easily  establish,  that  the  very  contrary 
is  the  case  ;  and  that,  had  I  considered  my  own  interests, 
I  should  have  allowed  The  Poacher  to  have  made  its 
appearance  in  Mr  Bentley's  Miscellany,  or  Mr  Colburn's 
New  Monthly  Magazine. 

"  In  the  paragraph  which  I  have  quoted  there  is  an  im- 
plication on  your  part  which  I  cannot  pass  over  without 
comment.  You  appear  to  set  up  a  standard  of  precedency 
and  rank  in  literature,  founded  upon  the  rarity  or  frequency 
of  an  author's  appearing  before  the  public,  the  scale 
descending  from  the  '  caressed  of  generous  publishers,' 
to  the  '  starveling  of  Grub  Street,' — the  former,  by  your 
implication,  constituting  the  aristocracy,  and  the  latter  the 
profanum  vulgus  of  the  quill.  Now,  although  it  is  a  fact 
that  the  larger  and  nobler  animals  of  creation  produce  but 
slowly,  while  the  lesser,  such  as  rabbits,  rats  and  mice, 
are  remarkable  for  their  fecundity,  I  do  not  think  that  the 
comparison  will  hold  good  as  to  the  breeding  of  brains  5 


■ 


Prefatory  Note  xi 

and  to  prove  it,  let  us  examine — if  this  argument  by 
implication  of  yours  is  good — at  what  grades  upon  the 
scale  it  would  place  the  writers  of  the  present  day. 

"  My  lady — anybody — produces  a  novel  but  once  a  year  ; 
of  course  she  must  be  superior,  nay,  twice  as  good  as  Hook 
or  James,  whose  conceptions  are  twice  as  rapid,  twelve 
times  better  than  the  contributors  to  Blackivood,  your  own, 
or  other  monthly  periodicals ;  fifty-two  times  superior  to 
the  hebdomadal  editors  of  the  Examiner  and  Spectator,  and 
three  hundred  and  thirteen  times  to  be  preferred  to  the 
talented  writers  in  the  Times  and  other  daily  newspapers. 
You  will  find  very  few  who  will  agree  with  you  in  this  j 
indeed,  I  doubt  if  you  would  exactly  approve  of  your  own 
position  in  the  scale  which  you  have  yourself  laid  down, 
You  will  agree  with  me  that  the  great  end  of  literature  is 
to  instruct  and  amuse,  to  make  mankind  wiser  and  better. 
If,  therefore,  an  author  writes  with  this  end  in  view,  and 
succeeds,  you  must  admit  that  the  greater  is  his  circulation 
the  more  valuable  are  his  labours. 

"Who  are  those,  may  I  ask,  who  most  require  instruction, 
and  I  may  add,  amusement  ?  Are  they  not  those  who 
cannot  afford  to  purchase  the  expensive  literature  of  the 
present  day,  not  even  to  delight  themselves  with  the 
spirited  pages  of  your  magazine  ?  I  do  not  pretend  to 
compare  my  efforts  with  the  concentrated  talent  exhibited 
monthly  in  your  pages,  but  if  I  do  reach  the  mass,  and  you 
do  not,  in  spite  of  my  inferiority  I  become  the  more  useful 
of  the  two. 

"  You  assert  it  is  beneath  me  to  write  for  a  weekly  news- 
paper, taken  in  chiefly  by  the  taverns  frequented  by  the 
lower  classes,  and  perused  mainly  by  the  mechanics  and 
labourers  of  the  country ;  in  short,  that  it  is  infra  dig.  in 
me  to  write  for  the  poor  man.  I  feel  quite  the  contrary, 
and  I  would  rather  write  for  the  instruction,  or  even  the 
amusement  of  the  poor  than  for  the  amusement  of  the 
rich ;  and  I  would  sooner  raise  a  smile  or  create  an  interest 
in  the  honest  mechanic  or  agricultural  labourer  who  re- 
quires relaxation,  than  I  would  contribute  to  dispel  the 


x  Prefatory  Note 

I  may  dismiss  it  at  once,  as  far  as  regards  myself,  by 
observing  that,  whether  I  appear  hebdomadally  or  monthly, 
my  writings,  such  as  they  are,  will  be  no  better  or  worse 
than  if  they  first  appeared  in  three  volumes.  I  am  too  old 
a  sailor  to  venture  into  action  without  plenty  of  powder 
and  shot  in  the  locker  ;  the  two  first  volumes  of  this  tale 
were  written  before  one  number  appeared  in  the  Era,  and 
the  remainder  is  now  completed. 

"  You  are  not  the  only  party  who  has  ventured  to  make 
the  remark  to  me  that  they  considered  it  was  infra  dig.  that 
I  should  write  in  a  weekly  newspaper  j  but  you  certainly 
are  the  first  who  has  ventured  to  pronounce  it  as  perfectly 
disgusting  and  as  pitiful  peddling.  Had  it  not  been  for  such 
unqualified  harsh  terms,  I  probably  should  have  made  no 
reply  to  your  observations. 

"If  I  understand  rightly  the  term  pitiful  peddling,  it  would 
intimate  that  I  had  been  induced  by  a  larger  sum  than  is 
usually  offered  for  contributing  to  monthly  periodicals  to 
write  for  a  weekly  paper.  If  such  is  your  impression  you 
are  very  much  in  error  ;  for  I  now  assert,  and,  were  it  worth 
the  trouble,  could  easily  establish,  that  the  very  contrary 
is  the  case  ;  and  that,  had  I  considered  my  own  interests, 
I  should  have  allowed  The  Poacher  to  have  made  its 
appearance  in  Mr  Bentley's  Miscellany,  or  Mr  Colburn's 
New  Monthly  Magazine. 

"  In  the  paragraph  which  I  have  quoted  there  is  an  im- 
plication on  your  part  which  I  cannot  pass  over  without 
comment.  You  appear  to  set  up  a  standard  of  precedency 
and  rank  in  literature,  founded  upon  the  rarity  or  frequency 
of  an  author's  appearing  before  the  public,  the  scale 
descending  from  the  '  caressed  of  generous  publishers,' 
to  the  '  starveling  of  Grub  Street,' — the  former,  by  your 
implication,  constituting  the  aristocracy,  and  the  latter  the 
profanum  vulgus  of  the  quill.  Now,  although  it  is  a  fact 
that  the  larger  and  nobler  animals  of  creation  produce  but 
slowly,  while  the  lesser,  such  as  rabbits,  rats  and  mice, 
are  remarkable  for  their  fecundity,  I  do  not  think  that  the 
comparison  will  hold  good  as  to  the  breeding  of  brains  5 


Prefatory  Note  xi 

and  to  prove  it,  let  us  examine — if  this  argument  by 
implication  of  yours  is  good — at  what  grades  upon  the 
scale  it  would  place  the  writers  of  the  present  day. 

"  My  lady — anybody — produces  a  novel  but  once  a  year  j 
of  course  she  must  be  superior,  nay,  twice  as  good  as  Hook 
or  James,  whose  conceptions  are  twice  as  rapid,  twelve 
times  better  than  the  contributors  to  Blackwood,  your  own, 
or  other  monthly  periodicals ;  fifty-two  times  superior  to 
the  hebdomadal  editors  of  the  Examiner  and  Spectator,  and 
three  hundred  and  thirteen  times  to  be  preferred  to  the 
talented  writers  in  the  Times  and  other  daily  newspapers. 
You  will  find  very  few  who  will  agree  with  you  in  this  ; 
indeed,  I  doubt  if  you  would  exactly  approve  of  your  own 
position  in  the  scale  which  you  have  yourself  laid  down, 
You  will  agree  with  me  that  the  great  end  of  literature  is 
to  instruct  and  amuse,  to  make  mankind  wiser  and  better. 
If,  therefore,  an  author  writes  with  this  end  in  view,  and 
succeeds,  you  must  admit  that  the  greater  is  his  circulation 
the  more  valuable  are  his  labours. 

"Who  are  those,  may  I  ask,  who  most  require  instruction, 
and  I  may  add,  amusement  ?  Are  they  not  those  who 
cannot  afford  to  purchase  the  expensive  literature  of  the 
present  day,  not  even  to  delight  themselves  with  the 
spirited  pages  of  your  magazine  ?  I  do  not  pretend  to 
compare  my  efforts  with  the  concentrated  talent  exhibited 
monthly  in  your  pages,  but  if  I  do  reach  the  mass,  and  you 
do  not,  in  spite  of  my  inferiority  I  become  the  more  useful 
of  the  two. 

"  You  assert  it  is  beneath  me  to  write  for  a  weekly  news- 
paper, taken  in  chiefly  by  the  taverns  frequented  by  the 
lower  classes,  and  perused  mainly  by  the  mechanics  and 
labourers  of  the  country ;  in  short,  that  it  is  infra  dig.  in 
me  to  write  for  the  poor  man.  I  feel  quite  the  contrary, 
and  I  would  rather  write  for  the  instruction,  or  even  the 
amusement  of  the  poor  than  for  the  amusement  of  the 
rich ;  and  I  would  sooner  raise  a  smile  or  create  an  interest 
in  the  honest  mechanic  or  agricultural  labourer  who  re- 
quires relaxation,  than  I  would  contribute  to  dispel  the 


xii  Prefatory  Note 

ennui  of  those  who  loll  on  their  couches  and  wonder  in 
their  idleness  what  they  shall  do  next.  Is  the  rich  man 
only  to  be  amused  ?  are  mirth  and  laughter  to  be  made  a 
luxury,  confined  to  the  upper  classes,  and  denied  to  the 
honest  and  hard-working  artisan  ? 

"  I  have  latterly  given  my  aid  to  cheap  literature,  and  I 
consider  that  the  most  decided  step  which  I  have  taken  is 
the  insertion  of  this  tale  in  a  weekly  newspaper,  by  which 
means  it  will  be  widely  disseminated  among  the  lower 
classes,  who,  until  lately  (and  the  chief  credit  of  the  change 
is  due  to  Mr  Dickens),  had  hardly  an  idea  of  such  re- 
creation. 

"  In  a  moral  point  of  view,  I  hold  that  I  am  right.  We 
are  educating  the  lower  classes ;  generations  have  sprung 
up  who  can  read  and  write :  and  may  I  enquire  what  it 
is  that  they  have  to  read  in  the  way  of  amusement  ?— 
for  I  speak  not  of  the  Bible,  which  is  for  private  examina- 
tion. They  have  scarcely  anything  but  the  weekly  news- 
papers, and,  as  they  cannot  command  amusement,  they 
prefer  those  which  create  the  most  excitement ;  and  this 
I  believe  to  be  the  cause  of  the  great  circulation  of  the 
Weekly  Dispatch,  which  has  but  too  well  succeeded  in 
demoralising  the  public,  in  creating  disaffection  and  ill- 
will  towards  the  government,  and  assisting  the  nefarious 
views  of  demagogues  and  chartists.  It  is  certain  that  men 
would  rather  laugh  than  cry — would  rather  be  amused 
than  rendered  gloomy  and  discontented — would  sooner 
dwell  upon  the  joys  or  sorrows  of  others  in  a  tale  of  fiction 
than  brood  over  their  own  supposed  wrongs.  If  I  put 
good  and  wholesome  food  (and,  as  I  trust,  sound  moral) 
before  the  lower  classes,  they  will  eventually  eschew 
that  which  is  coarse  and  disgusting,  which  is  only  resorted 
to  because  no  better  is  supplied.  Our  weekly  newspapers 
are  at  present  little  better  than  records  of  immorality  and 
crime,  and  the  effect  which  arises  from  having  no  other 
matter  to  read  and  comment  upon  is  of  serious  injury  to 
the  morality  of  the  country.  So  prone  is  our  nature  to 
evil,  that  the  very  exposition  of  dark  deeds  occasions  more 


Prefatory  Note  xiii 

dark  deeds  to  be  perpetrated,  and  the  weekly  recitals  of 
murders  and  stabbing,  of  insurrection,  of  bloodshed,  and 
incendiarism,  habituate  those  who  have  nothing  to  direct 
their  attention  from  them  to  the  deeds  themselves,  until 
they  no  longer  appear  to  them  formidable  or  revolting. 
"Fear  God  and  honour  the  king"  is  a  maxim  inculcated 
to  the  youth  of  this  country,  and  grows  up  with  them  : 
but  if  a  man,  week  after  week,  and  year  after  year,  has 
naught  to  listen  to  but  scoffs  at  religion,  attacks  upon 
church  and  clergy,  treasonable  outcries  against  the  govern- 
ment, aristocracy,  and  monarchy  itself,  his  best  feelings 
are  gradually  warped  ;  the  lessons  of  his  youth  are  looked 
upon  as  fallacies  ;  without  religion  to  guide  him,  loyalty 
to  cheer  him,  and  patriotism  to  exalt  him,  he  becomes  as 
a  vessel  without  a  rudder,  at  the  mercy  of  every  wind 
that  blows  ;  easily  persuaded  to  do  wrong,  and  to  find  out 
too  late  the  error  which  he  has  committed  ;  from  a  peace- 
ful, industrious,  and  contented  man,  he  becomes  gloomy, 
morose  and  discontented — a  bad  father  and  a  worse 
husband — a  misery  to  himself  and  dangerous  to  others. 

"  I  consider,  therefore,  that  in  writing  for  the  amusement 
and  instruction  of  the  poor,  I  am  doing  that  which  has  but 
been  too  much  neglected — that  I  am  serving  my  country, 
and  you  surely  will  agree  with  me  that  to  do  so  is  not 
infra  dig.  in  the  proudest  Englishman ;  and,  as  a 
Conservative,  you  should  commend  rather  than  stigmatise 
my  endeavours  in  the  manner  which  you  have  so  hastily 
done. 

"  Neither  do  I  consider  that  the  patrons  of  our  expensive 
literature  have  any  cause  of  complaint  at  the  step  which  I 
have  taken.  When  I  have  ministered  to  the  wants  of  the 
humbler  classes,  I  can  wash  my  hands  and  face,  put  on 
clean  linen,  and  make  my  appearance  in  the  three 
aristocratic  volumes  which  you  consider  as  necessary  to 
my  self-respect.  It  will  then  be  quite  time  enough  to  be 
caressed  by  generous  publishers  !  I  What  a  splendid  metaphor 
that  is  of  yours  !  How  hope-inspiring  !  for  it  refers,  of 
course,    to    futurity.        The    golden     era    of    literature 


xiv  Prefatory  Note 

approaches.  Mercury,  so  long  presiding  over  us,  is  at 
once  unshipped  from  his  pedestal ;  the  great  Jove  himself 
becomes  our  patron,  and,  to  follow  up  your  magnificent 
conception,  authors  in  future  are,  I  presume,  like  other 
Danaes,  to  await  the  descent  of  whichever  Jupiter  shall 
come  down  with  the  most  plentiful  '  shower  of  gold !  ' 
What  a  delightful,  transporting  vision  for  a  pitiful, 
peddling,  positively  disgusting,  self-constituted  starveling 
of  Grub  Street,  and  his  fraternity.  I  think  I  see  an 
author  now,  his  pen  arrested  in  its  progress,  his  eyes  cast 
up  to  the  ceiling,  waiting  for  the  appearance  of  his  celestial 
descendant,  totally  indifferent  as  to  whether  it  be  Murray, 
Colburn,  Bentley,  the  Siamese  Juncta,  Saunders  and  Otley, 
Whittaker,  Chappell,  or  Tegg.  Nay,  so  far  from  dreading, 
welcoming  the  near  approach  of  that  comet  of  Paternoster 
Row,  the  long-tailed  firm  of  Longman,  Orme,  Longman, 
Brown,  Rees,  Longman  and  Company. 

"  Caressed  by  generous  publishers  !  !  Truly,  I  may  say 
that  such  a  metaphor  I  never  met  afore.  Authors  must  no 
longer  write  to  their  publishers  in  plain  unvarnished 
language  to  inform  them  that  they  have  books,  like  razors, 
to  sell ;  but,  refined  by  your  tuition,  despatch  a  perfumed 
billet-doux  with — '  My  dear  Colburn,  or  my  dear  Bentley  -, 
are  you  inclined  to  caress  me  ?  if  so,  come  immediately, 
yours  ever.' 

"Such  a  communication  from  many  of  our  fair  authoresses 
will,  I  have  no  doubt,  be  well  received  ;  and  I  think  I  see 
Mr  Bentley  impatiently  pulling  on  his  boots,  or  Mr 
Colburn  rubbing  his  hands  with  delight,  till  the  carriage 
comes  to  the  door;  or  Mr  Longman,  senior,  with  truly 
paternal  solicitude,  forbidding  the  disappointed  Thomas  or 
William  from  responding  in  person  to  the  dangerous 
communication. 

"  But  a  want  of  more  time  and  space  compels  me  to  finish 
my  prologue.  The  curtain  rises,  and  once  more  the 
hebdomadal  little  Joey  appears  upon  the  scene." 

Edgar  Allen  Poe,  in  a  foolishly  scornful  notice  of  The 
Poacher   ("  The  Literati "),    maintains    that    Furness,  the 


Prefatory  Note  xv 

schoolmaster,  is  an  "imitation  of  Fagin,"  and  that  "a 
second  plagiarism  is  feebly  attempted  in  the  character  of 
one  Nancy,  a  trull,  who  is  based  upon  the  Nancy  of  Oliver 
Twist."  He  admits  that  "  it  has  the  merit  of  a  homely 
and  not  unnatural  simplicity  of  style,  and  is  not  destitute 
of  pathos  ; "  but  declares  that  "  there  are  twenty  young 
men  of  his  acquaintance  who  make  no  pretension  to 
literary  ability,  yet  who  could  produce  a  better  book  in  a 
week." 

More  honest  critics  will  give  The  Poacher  a  good  position 
among  domestic  novels  of  adventure,  in  which  class  its 
author  has  made  several  successful  attempts. 

The  Poacher  is  here  reprinted  from  the  first  edition  in 
three  volumes,  Longman,  Orme,  Brown,  Green  and  Co. 
1 841.  The  Rencontre,  always  hitherto  bound  with  this 
novel,  has  now  been  included  in  Olla  Podrida. 

R.  B.  J. 


Joseph  Rushbrook; 

OR, 

The  Poacher 


Chapter  I 

In  which  there  is  more  ale  than  argument. 

It  was  on  a  blusterous  windy  night  in  the  early  part  of 
November,  1812,  that  three  men  were  on  the  high  road 
near  to  the  little  village  of  Grassford,  in  the  south  of 
Devonshire.  The  moon  was  nearly  at  the  full,  but  the 
wild  scud,  and  occasionally  the  more  opaque  clouds, 
passed  over  it  in  such  rapid  succession,  that  it  was  rarely, 
and  but  for  a  moment  or  two,  that  the  landscape  was 
thrown  into  light  and  shadow ;  and  the  wind,  which 
was  keen  and  piercing,  bent  and  waved  the  leafless 
branches  of  the  trees  which  were  ranged  along  the 
hedge-rows,  between  which  the  road  had  been  formed. 

The  three  individuals  to  whom  we  have  referred, 
appeared  all  of  them  to  have  been  indulging  too  freely 
in  the  ale  which  was  sold  at  the  public-house  about 
half-a-mile  from  the  village,  and  from  which  they  had 
just  departed.  Two  of  them,  however,  comparatively 
speaking,  sober,  were  assisting  home,  by  their  joint 
efforts,  the  third,  who,  supported  between  them,  could 
with  difficulty  use  his  legs.     Thus  did  they  continue  on ;. 

J.R.  A 


2  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

the  two  swayed  first  on  the  one  side  of  the  road  and 
then  on  the  other  by  the  weight  of  the  third,  whom  they 
almost  carried  between  them.  At  last  they  arrived  at 
a  bridge  built  over  one  of  those  impetuous  streams  so 
common  in  the  county,  when,  as  if  by  mutual  under- 
standing, for  it  was  without  speaking,  the  two  more 
sober  deposited  the  body  of  the  third  against  the  parapet 
of  the  bridge,  and  then  for  some  time  were  silently 
occupied  in  recovering  their  breath.  One  of  the  two 
who  remained  leaning  on  the  parapet  by  the  side  of 
their  almost  lifeless  companion  was  a  man  of  about  forty 
years  of  age,  tall  and  slender,  dressed  in  a  worn-out 
black  coat,  and  a  pair  of  trousers  much  too  short  for 
him,  the  original  colour  of  which  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  have  surmised ;  a  sort  of  clerical  hat,  equally 
the  worse  for  wear,  was  on  his  head.  Although  his 
habiliments  were  mean,  still  there  was  something  about 
his  appearance  which  told  of  better  days,  and  of  having 
moved  in  a  different  sphere  in  society,  and  such  had  been 
the  case.  Some  years  before  he  had  been  the  head  of 
a  grammar  school  with  a  comfortable  income,  but  a  habit 
of  drinking  had  been  his  ruin ;  and  he  was  now  the 
preceptor  of  the  village  of  Grassford,  and  gained  his 
livelihood  by  instructing  the  children  of  the  cottagers 
for  the  small  modicum  of  twopence  a  head  per  week. 
This  unfortunate  propensity  to  liquor  remained  with  him ; 
and  he  no  sooner  received  his  weekly  stipend  than  he 
hastened  to  drown  his  cares,  and  the  recollection  of  his 
former  position,  at  the  ale-house  which  they  had  just 
quitted.  The  second  personage  whom  we  shall  introduce, 
was  not  of  a  corresponding  height  with  the  other ;  he 
was  broad,  square-chested,  and  short — dressed  in  knee- 
breeches,  leggings,  and  laced  boots — his  coat  being  of 
a  thick  fustian,  and  cut  short  like  a  shooting-jacket ;  his 
profession  was  that  of  a  pedlar. 

"  It's  odd  to  me,"  said  the  pedlar,  at  last  breaking 
silence  as  he  looked  down  upon  the  drunken  man  who 
laid   at   his  feet,  "  why  ale   should  take   a   man   off  his 


The  Poacher  3 

legs ;  they  say  hat  liquor  gets  into  the  head,  not  the 
feet." 

"Well!"  replied  the  schoolmaster,  who  was  much 
more  inebriated  than  the  pedlar,  "  there's  argument  even 
in  that ;  and,  you  see,  the  perpendicular  deviation  must 
arise  from  the  head  being  too  heavy — that's  clear  5  and 
then,  you  see,  the  feet,  from  the  centre  of  gravity  being 
destroyed,  become  too  light ;  and  if  you  put  that  and 
that  together,  why,  a  man  can't  stand — you  understand 
my  demonstration  ? " 

"  It  was  heavy  wet,  that  ale,  and  so  I  suppose  it's  all 
right,"  replied  the  pedlar ;  "  but  still  ale  an't  poured 
into  the  head  or  into  the  feet  of  a  man,  but  into  the 
internals,  which  are  right  in  the  middle  of  a  man — so, 
how  you  make  out  your  case,  Mr  Furness  ? " 

"  Why  !  Byres,  you  talk  of  the  residuum." 

"  Never  said  a  word  about  it ;  and,  as  I  stand  here, 
never  even  heard  the  word  before." 

"  Perhaps  not  j  the  residuum  is,  you  see,  Byres,  what 
is  left." 

"  If  that's  residguim,  I  didn't  mean  to  say  a  word  about 
it — there  was  none  left,  for  you  drained  the  pot." 

"  Good  Byres,  you  have  never  been  to  college,  that's 
clear.  Now,  observe,  when  a  man  pours  down  into  his 
stomach  a  certain  quantity  of  liquor,  the  spirituous  or 
lighter  part  ascends  to  his  head,  and  that  makes  his  head 
heavy.     Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  No ;  what's  light  can't  make  things  heavy." 

"  Can't  it  ? — you  know  nothing  about  the  matter. 
Have  you  not  a  proof  before  you  ?  "  replied  the  school- 
master, reeling  and  catching  hold  of  the  parapet  for 
support,  "  Look  at  that  unfortunate  man,  who  has  yielded 
to  excess." 

"  Very  true !  I  see  that  he's  drunk,  but  I  want  to 
know  how  it  is  that  he  got  drunk  ? " 

"  By  drinking." 

"  That  I  knew  before." 

"  Then  why  ask  more  questions  ?     Had  we  not  better 


4  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

proceed,  and  take  him  home  to  his  expectant  and  unhappy 
wife  ?  'Tis  a  sad,  sad  thing,  that  a  man  should  '  put 
an  enemy  into  his  mouth  to  steal  away  his  brains.' " 

"Half  a  pint  will  do  that  with  Rushbrook,"  replied 
the  pedlar  j  "  they  say  that  he  was  wounded  on  his  head, 
and  that  half  his  brains  are  gone  already,  and  that's  why 
he  has  a  pension." 

"  Yes,  seventeen  pounds  a-year ;  paid  quarterly,  with- 
out deduction,  and  only  to  walk  four  miles  to  get  it," 
replied  Furness;  "yet  how  misplaced  is  the  liberality  on  the 
part  of  the  government.  Does  he  work  ?  No ;  he  does 
nothing  but  drink  and  lie  in  bed  all  day,  while  I  must  be 
up  early  and  remain  late,  teaching  the  young  idea  at  two- 
pence per  week.  Friend  Byres,  '  mercy  is  not  itself  which 
oft  looks  so.'  Now,  it  is  my  opinion  that  it  would  be  a 
kindness  to  this  poor  wretch  if  we  were  to  toss  him,  as  he 
now  is,  over  the  bridge  into  the  rushing  stream — it  would 
end  all  his  troubles." 

'.'  And  save  us  the  trouble  of  getting  him  home," 
replied  Byres,  who  determined  to  humour  his  more  in- 
ebriated companion.  "Well,  Mr  Furness,  I've  no  objec- 
tion." 

"  Why  should  he  live  ?  Is  he  not  a  sinecurist — one  of 
the  locusts  who  fatten  on  the  sweat  and  blood  of  the 
people,  as  the  Sunday  paper  says  ?  don't  you  remember 
my  reading  it  this  morning  ?  " 

"Very  true,  Master  Furness  j  what  d'ye  say  then? 
shall  we  over  with  him  ?  " 

"We  must  think  a  little,"  replied  the  schoolmaster, 
who  put  his  hand  up  to  his  chin,  and  remained  silent  for  a 
minute  or  two.  "No,"  resumed  he  at  last,  "on  second 
thoughts  I  cannot  do  it.  He  halves  his  beer  with  me. 
No  pension — no  beer,  that's  a  self-evident  proposition  and 
conclusion.  It  were  ingratitude  on  my  part,  and  I  cannot 
consent  to  your  proposal,"  continued  the  schoolmaster ; 
"  nay,  more,  I  will  defend  him  against  your  murderous 
intentions  to  the  very  last." 

"Why,  Master   Furness,  you   must  be    somewhat  the 


The  Poacher  5 

worse  for  liquor  yourself,  it  was  your  proposal  to  throw 
him  over  the  bridge,  not  mine." 

"  Take  care  what  you  say,"  replied  the  schoolmaster  j 
"  would  you  accuse  me  of  murder  or  intent  to  murder  ?" 

"  No,  not  by  no  means — only  you  proposed  heaving 
him  over  the  bridge ;  I  will  say  that." 

"  Friend  Byres,  it's  my  opinion  you'll  say  anything  but 
your  prayers  j  but  in  your  present  state  I  overlook  it. 
Let  us  go  on,  or  I  shall  have  two  men  to  carry  home 
instead  of  one.  Come,  now,  take  one  of  his  arms,  while 
I  take  the  other,  and  raise  him  up.  It  is  but  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  to  the  cottage." 

Byres,  who,  as  we  observed,  was  by  far  the  most  sober 
of  the  two,  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  reply  to  the 
pedagogue.  After  a  few  staggers  on  the  part  of  the 
latter,  their  comrade  was  raised  up  and  led  away  between 
them. 

The  drunken  man  appeared  to  be  so  far  aware  of  what 
was  going  on  that  he  moved  his  legs  mechanically,  and  in 
a  short  time  they  arrived  at  the  cottage  door,  which  the 
pedagogue  struck  with  his  fist  so  as  to  make  it  rattle  on 
its  hinges.  The  door  was  opened  by  a  tall  handsome 
woman,  holding  a  candle  in  her  hand. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  she,  shaking  her  head,  "  the  old 
story ;  now,  he  will  be  ill  all  night,  and  not  get  up  till 
noon.  What  a  weary  life  it  is  with  a  drunken  husband ! 
Bring  him  in,  and  thank  you  kindly  for  your  trouble." 

"  It  has  been  hard  work  and  hot  work,"  observed  the 
schoolmaster,  sitting  down  in  a  chair,  after  they  had  placed 
their  comrade  on  the  bed. 

"Indeed,  and  it  must  be,"  replied  the  wife.  "Will 
you  have  a  drop  of  small  beer,  Mr  Furness  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  please,  and  so  will  Mr  Byres  too.  What 
a  pity  it  is  your  good  man  will  not  keep  to  small 
beer  !  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  replied  the  wife,  who  went  into  the 
back  premises,  and  soon  returned  with  a  quart  mug  of 
beer. 


6  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

The  schoolmaster  emptied  half  the  mug,  and  then 
handed  it  to  the  pedlar. 

"  And  my  little  friend  Joey,  fast  asleep,  I'll  warrant  ?  " 

"  Yes,  poor  child,  and  so  should  I  have  been  by  this 
time  ;  the  clock  has  gone  twelve." 

"Well,  Mrs  Rushbrook,  I  wish  you  a  good-night. 
Come,  Mr  Byres,  Mrs  Rushbrook  must  want  to  be  in 
bed." 

"  Good-night,  Mr  Furness,  and  good-night,  sir,  and 
many  thanks." 

The  schoolmaster  and  pedlar  quitted  the  cottage.  Mrs 
Rushbrook,  after  having  watched  them  for  a  minute, 
carefully  closed  the  door. 

"  They're  gone  now,"  said  she,  as  she  returned  to  her 
husband. 

What  would  have  created  much  astonishment  could 
anybody  else  have  witnessed  it,  as  soon  as  his  wife  had 
spoken,  Rushbrook  immediately  sprung  upon  his  feet,  a 
fine-looking  man,  six  feet  in  height,  very  erect  in  his 
bearing — and  proved  to  be  perfectly  sober. 

"  Jane,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "  there  never  was  such  a 
night ;  but  I  must  be  quick,  and  lose  no  time.  Is  my 
gun  ready  ? " 

"  Everything's  ready  ;  Joey  is  lying  down  on  his  bed, 
but  all  ready  dressed,  and  he  awakes  in  a  minute." 

"  Call  him,  then,  for  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  That 
drunken  fool,  Furness,  proposed  throwing  me  over  the 
bridge.  It  was  lucky  for  them  that  they  did  not  try  it, 
or  I  should  have  been  obliged  to  settle  them  both,  that 
they  might  tell  no  tales.     Where's  Mum  ?  " 

"  In  the  wash-house.     I'll  bring  him  and  Joey  directly." 

The  wife  left  the  room,  while  Rushbrook  took  down 
his  gun  and  ammunition,  and  prepared  himself  for  his  ex- 
pedition. In  a  minute  or  two  a  shepherd's  dog,  which 
had  been  released  from  the  wash-house,  made  his  appear- 
ance, and  quietly  laid  down  close  to  his  master's  feet ;  it 
was  soon  followed  by  Mrs  R.,  accompanied  by  Joey,  a 
thin  meagre-looking  boy  of  about  twelve  years  old,  very 


The  Poacher  7 

small  for  his  age,  but  apparently  as  active  as  a  cat,  and 
with  energy  corresponding.  No  one  would  have  thought 
he  had  been  roused  from  his  sleep  ;  there  was  no  yawning 
or  weariness  of  motion — on  the  contrary,  his  large  eye 
was  as  bright  as  an  eagle's,  as  he  quietly  although  quickly 
provided  himself  with  a  sack,  which  he  threw  over  his 
shoulders,  and  a  coil  of  line,  which  he  held  in  his  hand, 
waiting  until  his  father  was  ready  to  start.  The  wife  put 
out  the  lights,  softly  opened  the  cottage-door,  looked  well 
round,  and  then  returned  to  her  husband,  who,  giving  a 
low  whistle  as  a  summons  to  Joey  and  the  dog,  walked 
out  of  the  door.  Not  a  word  was  spoken — the  door  was 
softly  shut  to — and  the  trio  crept  stealthily  away. 


Chapter    II 

In  which  the  hero  of  the  tale  is  formally  introduced. 

Before  we  proceed  with  our  narrative,  perhaps  it  will 
be  better  to  explain  what  may  appear  very  strange  to  the 
reader.  Joseph  Rushbrook,  who  has  just  left  the  cottage 
with  his  son  and  his  dog,  was  born  in  the  village  in 
which  he  was  then  residing.  During  his  younger  days, 
some  forty  years  previous  to  his  present  introduction  to 
the  reader,  the  law  was  not  so  severe  or  the  measures 
taken  against  poachers  so  strong  as  they  were  at  the 
period  of  which  we  write.  In  his  youth  he  had  been 
very  fond  of  carrying  a  gun — as  his  father  had  been 
before  him — but  he  never  was  discovered ;  and  after 
having  poached  for  many  years  and  gained  a  perfect 
knowledge  of  the  country  for  miles  round,  he  was  per- 
suaded, in  a  fit  of  semi-intoxication,  at  a  neighbouring  fair, 
to  enlist  in  a  marching  regiment.  He  had  not  been  more 
than  three  months  at  the  depot  when  he  was  ordered  out 
to  India,  where  he  remained  eleven  years  before  he  was 
recalled.  He  had  scarcely  been  six  months  in  England 
when  the  exigency  of  the  war  demanded  the  services  of 


8  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

the  regiment  in  the  Mediterranean,  where  he  remained 
for  twelve  years,  and  having  received  a  severe  wound 
in  the  head,  he  was  then  pensioned  off  and  discharged. 
He  resolved  to  return  to  his  native  village,  and  settle 
down  quietly,  hoping  by  moderate  labour  and  his  pension 
to  gain  a  comfortable  living.  On  his  return  he  was 
hardly  known ;  many  had  emigrated  to  a  foreign  clime  j 
many  had  been  transported  for  offences  against  the  laws, 
particularly  for  the  offence  of  poaching,  and  as  most  of 
his  former  allies  had  been  so  employed,  he  found  himself 
almost  a  stranger  where  he  expected  to  meet  with  friends. 
The  property  also  about  the  village  had  changed  hands. 
People  recollected  Squire  So  and  So,  and  the  Baronet, 
but  now  their  lands  were  held  by  wealthy  manufacturers 
or  retired  merchants.  All  was  new  to  Joe  Rushbrook, 
and  he  felt  himself  anywhere  but  at  home.  Jane  Ashley, 
a  very  beautiful  young  woman,  who  was  in  service  at 
the  Hall,  the  mansion  appertaining  to  the  adjacent  pro- 
perty, and  the  daughter  of  one  of  his  earliest  friends  who 
had  been  transported  for  poaching,  was  almost  the  only 
one  who  could  talk  to  him  after  his  absence  of  twenty- 
four  years ;  not  that  she  knew  the  people  at  the  time,  for 
she  was  then  an  infant,  but  she  had  grown  up  with  them 
after  Joe  had  left,  and  could  narrate  anecdotes  of  them 
and  what  had  been  their  eventual  destinies.  Jane  having 
been  the  daughter  of  a  man  who  had  been  transported 
for  poaching,  was  to  Joe  a  sort  of  recommendation,  and 
it  ended  in  his  taking  her  for  his  wife.  They  had  not 
been  long  settled  in  their  cottage  before  Joe's  former 
propensities  returned ;  in  fact,  he  could  not  be  idle,  he 
had  carried  a  musket  too  long,  and  had  lived  such  a  life 
of  excitement  in  the  service  of  his  country,  that  he  found 
it  impossible  to  exist  without  shooting  at  something. 
All  his  former  love  of  poaching  came  strong  upon  him, 
and  his  wife,  so  far  from  checking  him,  encouraged  him 
in  his  feelings.  The  consequence  was,  that  two  years 
after  his  marriage  Joe  Rushbrook  was  the  most  determined 
poacher  in  the  county.      Although  often   suspected,  he 


The  Poacher  9 

had  never  been  detected ;  one  great  cause  of  this  was  his 
appearing  to  be  such  a  drunkard,  a  plan  hit  upon  by  his  wife, 
who  had  observed  that  drunken  men  were  not  suspected  of 
being  poachers.  This  scheme  had  therefore  been  hit  upon, 
and  very  successfully  j  for  proving  before  a  magistrate 
that  a  man  was  carried  home  dead  drunk  and  speechless 
at  midnight,  was  quite  as  good  an  alibi  as  could  be  brought 
forward.  Joe  Rushbrook  had,  therefore,  the  credit  of 
being  a  worthless,  drunken  fellow,  who  lived  upon  his 
pension  and  what  his  wife  could  earn ;  but  no  one  had 
an  idea  that  he  was  not  only  earning  his  livelihood,  but 
laying  by  money  from  his  successful  night-labours.  Not 
that  Joe  did  not  like  a  drop  occasionally;  on  the  contrary, 
he  would  sometimes  drink  freely — but,  generally  speaking, 
the  wounds  in  his  head  were  complained  of,  and  he 
would,  if  the  wind  was  fresh  and  set  in  the  right  quarter, 
contrive  to  be  carried  home  on  the  night  in  which  he  had 
most  work  to  do.  Such  was  the  case,  as  we  have 
represented  in  the  first  chapter. 

Little  Joey,  who,  as  the  reader  may  anticipate,  will  be 
our  future  hero,  was  born  the  first  year  after  the  marriage, 
and  was  their  only  child.  He  was  a  quiet,  thoughtful, 
reflective  boy  for  his  years — and  had  imbibed  his  father's 
love  of  walking  out  on  a  dark  night  to  an  extraordinary 
degree ;  it  was  strange  to  see  how  much  prudence  there 
was,  mingled  with  the  love  of  adventure,  in  this  lad. 
True  it  is,  his  father  had  trained  him  early,  first  to 
examine  the  snares  and  conceal  the  game,  which  a  little 
shrimp  like  Joey  could  do,  without  being  suspected  to 
be  otherwise  employed  than  in  picking  blackberries. 
Before  he  was  seven  years  old,  Joey  could  set  a  springe 
as  well  as  his  father,  and  was  well  versed  in  all  the 
mystery  and  art  of  unlawful  taking  of  game.  Indeed,  he 
was  very  valuable  to  his  father,  and  could  do  what  his 
father  could  not  have  ventured  upon  without  exciting 
suspicion.  It  was,  perhaps,  from  his  constant  vigils,  that 
the  little  boy  was  so  small  in  size ;  at  all  events,  his 
diminutive  size  was  the  cause  of  there  being  no  suspicion 


io  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

attached  to  him.  Joey  went  very  regularly  to  the  day- 
school  of  Mr  Furness ;  and,  although  often  up  the  best 
part  of  the  night,  he  was  one  of  the  best  and  most  diligent 
of  the  scholars.  No  one  could  have  supposed  that  the 
little  fair-haired,  quiet-looking  boy,  who  was  so  busy 
with  his  books  or  his  writing,  could  have  been  out  half 
the  night  on  a  perilous  excursion,  for  such  it  was  at  the 
time  we  are  speaking  of.  It  need  hardly  be  observed 
that  Joey  had  learned  one  important  lesson,  which  was 
to  be  silent — not  even  Mum,  the  dog,  who  could  not 
speak,  was  more  secret  or  more  faithful. 

It  is  astonishing  how  much  the  nature  and  disposition  of 
a  child  may  be  altered  by  early  tuition.  Let  a  child  be 
always  with  its  nurse,  even  under  the  guidance  of  a 
mother,  regularly  brought  up  as  children  usually  are,  and 
it  will  continue  to  be  a  child,  and  even  childish  after 
childhood  is  gone.  But  take  the  same  child,  put  it  by 
degrees  in  situations  of  peril,  requiring  thought  and  obser- 
vation beyond  its  years,  accustom  it  to  nightly  vigils,  and 
to  watching,  and  to  hold  its  tongue,  and  it  is  astonishing 
how  the  mind  of  that  child,  however  much  its  body  may 
suffer,  will  develop  itself  so  as  to  meet  the  demand  upon 
it.  Thus  it  is  with  lads  who  are  sent  early  to  sea,  and 
thus  it  was  with  little  Joey.  He  was  a  man  in  some 
points,  although  a  child  in  others.  He  would  play  with 
his  companions,  laugh  as  loudly  as  the  others,  but  still  he 
would  never  breathe  a  hint  of  what  was  his  father's 
employment.  He  went  to  church  every  Sunday,  as  did 
his  father  and  mother — for  they  considered  that  poaching 
was  no  crime,  although  punished  as  such  by  the  laws,  and 
he,  of  course,  considered  it  no  crime,  as  he  only  did  what 
his  father  and  mother  wished.  Let  it  not  be  thought, 
therefore,  that  the  morals  of  our  little  hero  were  affected 
by  his  father's  profession,  for  such  was  not  the  case. 

Having  entered  into  this  necessary  explanation,  we  will 
now  proceed.  No  band  of  North  American  Indians  could 
have  observed  a  better  trail  than  that  kept  by  our  little 
party.     Rushbrook  walked  first,  followed  by  our  hero  and 


The  Poacher  1 1 

the  dog  Mum.  Not  a  word  was  spoken ;  they  continued 
their  route  over  grass-lands  and  ploughed-fields,  keeping 
in  the  shade  of  the  hedge-rows  ;  if  Rushbrook  stopped  for 
a  while  to  reconnoitre,  so  did  Joey,  and  so  did  Mum,  at 
their  relative  distances,  until  the  march  was  resumed. 
For  three  miles  and  a  half  did  they  thus  continue,  until 
they  arrived  at  a  thick  cover.  The  wind  whistled  through 
the  branches  of  the  bare  trees,  chiefly  oak  and  ash;  the 
cold  damp  fog  was  now  stationary,  and  shrouded  them  as 
they  proceeded  cautiously  by  the  beaten  track  in  the  cover, 
until  they  had  passed  through  it,  and  arrived  on  the  other 
side,  where  the  cottage  of  a  gamekeeper  was  situated.  A 
feeble  light  was  burning,  and  shone  through  the  diamond- 
paned  windows.  Rushbrook  walked  out  clear  of  the 
cover,  and  held  up  his  hand  to  ascertain  precisely  the 
direction  of  the  wind.  Having  satisfied  himself,  he 
retreated  into  the  cover  in  a  direction  so  as  to  be  exactly 
to  leeward  of  the  keeper's  house,  that  the  noise  of  the 
report  of  his  gun  might  not  be  heard.  Having  cleared  the 
hedge,  he  lowered  his  gun,  so  as  to  bring  the  barrel  within 
two  or  three  inches  of  the  ground,  and  walked  slowly  and 
cautiously  through  the  brushwood,  followed  as  before  by 
Joey  and  Mum.  After  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile's  walk,  a 
rattling  of  metal  was  heard,  and  they  stopped  short :  it 
was  the  barrel  of  the  fowling-piece  which  had  brushed  one 
of  the  wires  attached  to  a  spring-gun,  set  for  the  benefit 
of  poachers.  Rushbrook  lifted  up  his  left  hand,  as  a  sign 
to  Joey  not  to  move,  and  following  the  wire,  by  continually 
rattling  his  barrel  against  it,  he  eventually  arrived  at  the 
gun  itself,  opened  the  pan,  threw  out  all  the  priming, 
leaving  it  with  the  pan  open,  so  that  it  could  not  go  off,  in 
case  they  fell  in  with  another  of  the  wires.  Rushbrook 
then  proceeded  to  business  j  for  he  well  knew  that  the 
gun  would  be  set  where  the  pheasants  were  most  accus- 
tomed to  roost  j  he  put  a  small  charge  of  powder  in  his 
fowling-piece,  that,  being  so  near,  he  might  not  shatter 
the  birds,  and  because  the  noise  of  the  report  would  be 
much  less  j  walking  under  an  oak  tree  he  soon  discovered 


12  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

the  round  black  masses  which  the  bodies  of  the  roosting 
pheasants  presented  between  him  and  the  sky,  and  raising 
his  piece,  he  fired ;  a  heavy  bound  on  the  earth  near  his 
feet  followed  the  discharge,  Joey  then  slipped  forward 
and  put  the  pheasant  into  his  bag ;  another  and  another 
shot,  and  every  shot  brought  an  increase  to  Joey's  load. 
Seventeen  were  already  .in  it  when  Mum  gave  a  low 
growl.  This  was  the  signal  for  people  being  near. 
Rushbrook  snapped  his  finger ;  the  dog  came  forward  to 
his  side  and  stood  motionless,  with  ears  and  tail  erect.  In 
a  minute's  time  was  heard  the  rustling  of  branches  as  the 
party  forced  their  way  through  the  underwood.  Rush- 
brook stood  still,  waiting  the  signal  from  Mum,  for  the 
dog  had  been  taught,  if  the  parties  advancing  had  another 
dog  with  them,  always  to  raise  his  fore-feet  up  to  Rush- 
brook's  knees,  but  not  otherwise  ;  Mum  made  no  such 
sign,  and  then  Rushbrook  laid  down  in  the  brushwood, 
his  motions  being  closely  followed  by  his  son  and  his  dog. 

Voices  in  whispers  were  now  heard,  and  the  forms  of 
two  men  with  guns  were  to  be  seen  not  four  yards  from 
where  they  were  lying.  "  Somewhere  about  here,  I'll 
swear,"  said  one.  "  Yes,  I  think  so ;  but  it  may  be 
further  on — the  wind  has  brought  down  the  sound." — 
"Very  true,  let's  follow  them,  and  they  may  fall  back 
upon  the  spring-gun."  The  parties  then  advanced  into 
the  cover,  and  were  soon  out  of  sight ;  after  a  time, 
Rushbrook  held  his  ear  to  the  wind,  and,  satisfied  that 
all  was  safe,  moved  homewards,  and  arrived  without 
further  adventure,  having  relieved  Joey  of  the  heavy 
sack  as  soon  as  they  were  in  the  open  fields. 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  tapped  at  the  back 
door  of  the  cottage.  Jane  opened  it,  and  the  spoils  of 
the  night  having  been  put  away  in  a  secret  place,  they 
were  all  soon  in  bed  and  fast  asleep. 


The  Poacher  13 

Chapter    III 

Train  a  child  in  the  way  he  should  go,  and  he  will  not  depart  from  it. 

It  is  an  old  saying,  that  "  if  there  were  no  receivers  there 
would  be  no  thieves,"  and  it  would  have  been  of  very 
little  use  for  Rushbrook  to  take  the  game  if  he  had  not 
had  the  means  of  disposing  of  it.  In  this  point,  Byres, 
the  pedlar,  was  a  valuable  accessory.  Byres  was  a  radical 
knave,  who  did  not  admire  hard  work.  At  first  he  took 
up  the  profession  of  bricklayer's  labourer,  one  that  is  of 
a  nature  only  affording  occasional  work  and  moderate 
wages.  He  did  this  that  he  might  apply  to  the  parish 
for  relief  and  do  nothing  for  the  major  portion  of  the 
year.  But  even  a  few  months'  work  would  not  suit  him, 
and  subsequently  he  gained  his  sustenance  by  carrying  on 
his  head  a  large  basket  of  crockery,  and  disposing  of  his 
wares  among  the  cottagers.  At  last  he  took  out  a  pedlar's 
licence — perhaps  one  of  the  most  dangerous  permits  ever 
allowed  by  a  government,  and  which  has  been  the  cause 
of  much  of  the  ill-will  and  discontent  fomented  among 
the  lower  classes.  Latterly,  the  cheapness  of  printing 
and  easiness  of  circulation  have  rendered  the  profession 
of  less  consequence — twenty  years  ago  the  village  ale- 
houses were  not  provided  with  newspapers ;  it  was  an 
expense  never  thought  of;  the  men  went  to  drink  their 
beer  and  talk  over  the  news  of  the  vicinity,  and  if  there 
was  a  disturbance  in  any  other  portion  of  the  United 
Kingdom,  the  fact  was  only  gained  by  rumour,  and  that 
vaguely  and  long  after  it  had  taken  place.  But  when  the 
pedlar  Byres  made  his  appearance,  which  he  at  last  did, 
weekly  or  oftener,  as  it  might  happen,  there  was  a  great 
change ;  he  was  the  party  who  supplied  information,  and, 
in  consequence,  he  was  always  welcome,  and  looked  upon 
as  an  oracle ;  the  best  seat  near  the  fire  was  reserved  for 
him,  and  having  deposited  his  pack  upon  the  table  or  in 
a  corner   he  would    then  produce  the  Propeller,  or  some 


1 4  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

other  publication  full  of  treason  and  blasphemy,  and  read 
it  aloud  for  the  benefit  of  the  labourers  assembled.  A 
few  months  were  more  than  sufficient  to  produce  the 
most  serious  effects : — men  who  had  worked  cheerfully 
through  the  day,  and  retired  to  bed  satisfied  with  their 
lot  and  thankful  that  work  was  to  be  obtained,  now 
remained  at  the  public-house,  canvassing  the  conduct  of 
government,  and  leaving  their  resort  satisfied  in  their 
own  minds  that  they  were  ill-used,  harshly  treated,  and 
in  bitter  bondage.  If  they  met  their  superiors,  those 
very  parties  to  whom  they  were  indebted  for  employment, 
there  was  no  respect  shown  to  them  as  formerly— or  if 
so,  it  was  sullen  and  forced  acknowledgment.  The  church 
was  gradually  deserted — the  appearance  of  the  pastor  was 
no  longer  a  signal  for  every  hat  to  be  lifted  from  the  head ; 
on  the  contrary,  boys  of  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  of 
age  would  lean  against  the  church,  or  the  walls  of  the 
churchyard,  with  their  hands  in  both  pockets,  and  a  sort 
of  leer  upon  their  faces,  as  though  they  defied  the  pastor 
on  his  appearance — and  there  would  they  remain  outside 
during  the  service,  meeting,  unquailed  and  without 
blushing,  his  eyes,  cast  upon  them  as  he  came  out  again. 
Such  was  the  state  of  things  in  the  village  of  Grassford 
in  one  year  after  the  pedlar  had  added  it  to  his  continual 
rounds — and  Byres  was  a  great  favourite,  for  he  procured 
for  the  women  what  they  commissioned  him  to  obtain — 
supplied  the  girls  with  ribbons  and  gewgaws — and  trusted 
to  a  considerable  extent.  His  reappearance  was  always 
anxiously  looked  for ;  he  lived  scot-free  at  the  public- 
house,  for  he  brought  so  much  custom,  and  was  the 
occasion  of  the  drinking  of  so  much  ale — that  the  landlord 
considered  his  coming  as  a  god-send.  His  box  of  ware 
was  well  supplied  in  the  summer  months,  for  the  fine 
weather  was  the  time  for  the  wearing  of  gay  ribbons ; 
but  in  the  winter  he  travelled  more  to  receive  orders,  or 
to  carry  away  the  game  supplied  to  him  by  the  poachers, 
with  whom  he  was  in  league.  Had  his  box  been  examined 
during  the  shooting   season,  it  would  have   been   found 


The  Poacher  15 

loaded  with  pheasants,  not  with  trinkets  and  ribbons. 
It  need  hardly  be  observed  after  this,  that  Byres  was 
the  party  who  took  off  the  hands  of  Rushbrook  all  the 
game  which  he  procured,  and  which  he  had  notice  to 
call  for  before  daylight,  generally  the  second  morning  after 
it  had  been  obtained  ;  for  Rushbrook  was  too  cautious 
to  trust  Byres  with  his  secret,  that  of  never  going  out 
of  a  night  without  having  previously  pretended  intoxica- 
tion, and  having  suffered  himself  to  be  led  or  carried 
home. 

Our  readers  will  acknowledge  that  little  Joey  was 
placed  in  a  very  dangerous  position;  it  is  true  that  he 
was  not  aware  that  he  was  doing  wrong  in  assisting  his 
father ;  nevertheless,  being  a  reflective  boy,  it  did  some- 
times occur  to  him  that  it  was  odd  that  what  was  right 
should  be  done  so  secretly ;  and  he  attempted  to  make 
out  how  it  was  that  the  birds  that  flew  about  everywhere, 
and  appeared  to  belong  to  everyone,  might  not  be  shot 
in  the  open  day.  He  knew  that  the  laws  forbade  it ;  but 
he  inquired  of  himself  why  such  laws  should  be.  Joey 
had  heard  but  one  side  of  the  question,  and  was  therefore 
puzzled.  It  was  fortunate  for  him  that  the  pastor  of  the 
parish,  although  he  did  not  reside  in  it,  did  at  least  once 
a  week  call  in  at  Mr  F.'s  school,  and  examine  the  boy. 
Mr  Furness,  who  was  always  sober  during  the  school 
hours,  was  very  proud  of  these  visits,  and  used  to 
point  out  little  Joey  as  his  most  promising  scholar. 
This  induced  the  pastor  to  take  more  immediate  notice 
of  our  hero,  and  the  commendation  which  he  received, 
and  the  advice  that  was  bestowed  upon  him,  was  probably 
the  great  cause  why  Joey  did  attend  assiduously  to  his 
lessons,  which  his  otherwise  vagrant  life  would  have 
disinclined  him  to  do,  and  also  kept  a  character  for 
honesty  and  good  principle,  which  he  really  deserved. 
Indeed,  his  father  and  mother,  setting  aside  poaching, 
and  the  secrecy  resorted  to  in  consequence,  were  by  no 
means  bad  examples  in  the  ordinary  course  of  life  ;  they 
did  to  their  neighbours  as  they  would  be  done  by,  were 


1 6  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

fair  and  honest  in  their  dealings,  and  invariably  inculcated 
probity  and  a  regard  to  truth  on  their  son.  This  may 
appear  anomalous  to  many  of  our  readers,  but  there  are 
many  strange  anomalies  in  this  world.  It  may  therefore 
be  stated,  in  a  very  few  words,  that  although  our  little 
hero  had  every  chance  of  eventually  following  the  road 
to  ruin,  yet,  up  to  the  present  time,  he  had  not  entered  it. 
Such  was  the  life  led  by  little  Joey  for  three  years 
subsequent  to  our  introduction  of  him  to  the  reader; 
every  day  he  became  more  useful  to  his  father ;  latterly 
he  had  not  attended  school  but  in  the  forenoon,  for,  as 
we  have  before  observed,  Joey  could,  from  his  diminutive 
size  and  unsuspicious  appearance,  do  much  that  his  father 
would  not  have  ventured  to  attempt.  He  was  as  well 
versed  in  the  art  of  snaring  as  his  father,  and  sauntering 
like  a  child  about  the  fields  and  hedge-rows,  would 
examine  his  nooses,  take  out  the  game,  and  hide  it  till 
he  could  bring  it  home.  Sometimes  he  would  go  out 
at  night  attended  only  by  Mum,  and  the  dog  would 
invariably  give  him  mute  notice,  by  simply  standing  with 
his  ears  and  tail  erect,  when  the  keepers  had  discovered 
the  snares,  and  were  lying  in  wait  for  the  poacher,  to 
lay  hold  of  him  when  he  came  to  ascertain  his  success. 
Even  in  such  a  case,  Joey  very  often  would  not  retreat, 
but  crawling  on  his  stomach,  would  arrive  at  the  snare, 
and  take  out  the  animal  without  the  keepers  perceiving 
him,  for  their  eyes  were  invariably  directed  to  the  horizon, 
watching  the  appearance  of  some  stout  figure  of  a  man, 
while  Joey  crawled  along  bearing  away  the  prize  unseen. 
At  other  times,  Joey  would  reap  a  rich  harvest  in  the 
broad  day,  by  means  of  his  favourite  game-cock.  Having 
put  on  the  animal  his  steel  spurs,  he  would  plunge  into 
the  thickest  of  the  cover,  and  selecting  some  small  spot 
of  cleared  ground  for  the  combat,  would  throw  down 
his  gallant  bird,  and  conceal  himself  in  the  brushwood  •, 
the  game-cock  would  immediately  crow,  and  his  challenge 
was  immediately  answered  by  the  pugnacious  male  pheasant, 
who  flew  down  to  meet  him :  the  combat  was  short,  for 


The  Poacher  17 

the  pheasant  was  soon  pierced  with  the  sharp  steel  of  his 
adversary,  and  as  one  antagonist  fell  dead,  again  would 
the  game-cock  crow,  and  his  challenge  be  accepted  by 
another.  In  an  hour  or  two  the  small  arena  was  a  field 
of  blood ;  Joey  would  creep  forward,  put  his  victorious 
cock  into  his  bag  together  with  his  many  dead  adversaries, 
and  watch  an  opportunity  for  a  safe  retreat. 

Such  was  the  employment  of  our  hero,  and  although 
suspicion  had  often  been  attached  to  his  father,  none  had 
an  idea  that  there  had  been  a  violation  of  the  laws  on  the 
part  of  the  son,  when  an  event  took  place  which  changed 
our  hero's  destiny. 


Chapter  IV 

In  which  the  author  has  endeavoured,  with  all  his  power,  to  suit  the  present 
taste  of  the  public. 

We  have  said  that  Byres  was  the  receiver  of  the  game 
obtained  by  Rushbrook.  It  so  happened,  that  in  these 
accounts  Byres  had  not  adhered  to  his  duty  towards  his 
neighbour ;  in  fact,  he  attempted  to  over-reach,  but  with- 
out success,  and  from  that  time  Byres  became  Rushbrook's 
determined,  but  secret,  enemy.  Some  months  had  passed 
since  their  disagreement,  and  there  was  a  mutual  mistrust 
(as  both  men  were  equally  revengeful  in  their  tempers), 
when  they  happened  to  meet  late  on  a  Saturday  night  at 
the  ale-house,  which  was  their  usual  resort.  Furness  the 
schoolmaster  was  there ;  he  and  many  others  had  already 
drunk  too  much  j  all  were  boisterous  and  noisy.  A  few 
of  the  wives  of  those  drinking  were  waiting  patiently  and 
sorrowfully  outside,  their  arms  folded  in  their  aprons  as  a 
defence  against  the  cold,  watching  for  their  husbands  to 
come  out,  that  they  might  coax  them  home  before  the 
major  part  of  the  week's  earnings  had  been  spent  in 
liquor.  Byres  had  the  paper  in  his  hand — he  had  taken 
it  from  the  schoolmaster,  who  was  too  far  gone  to  read 

J.R.  B 


1 8  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

it,  and  was  declaiming  loudly  against  all  governments, 
monarchy,  and  laws — when  a  stranger  entered  the  tap- 
room where  they  were  all  assembled.  Rushbrook  was  at 
the  time  sitting  down,  intending  quietly  to  take  a  pint  and 
walk  home,  as  he  had  too  much  respect  for  the  Sabbath  to 
follow  his  profession  of  poacher  on  the  morning  of  that 
day :  he  did  not  intend,  therefore,  to  resort  to  his  usual 
custom  of  pretending  to  be  intoxicated  j  but  when  the 
stranger  came  in,  to  his  great  surprise  he  observed  a 
glance  of  recognition  between  him  and  Byres,  after 
which  they  appeared  as  if  they  were  perfect  strangers. 
Rushbrook  watched  them  carefully,  but  so  as  not  to  let 
them  perceive  he  was  so  doing,  when  a  beckon  from  the 
stranger  to  Byres  was  again  made.  Byres  continued  to 
read  the  paper  and  to  harangue,  but  at  the  same  time  took 
an  opportunity  of  making  a  signal  in  reply.  There  was 
something  in  the  stranger's  appearance  which  told  Rush- 
brook that  he  was  employed  as  a  keeper,  or  something  in 
that  way,  for  we  often  single  out  our  enemies  by  instinct. 
That  there  was  mischief  in  the  wind  Rushbrook  felt  sure, 
and  his  heart  misgave  him — the  more  so,  as  occasionally 
the  eyes  of  both  were  turned  towards  him.  After  a  little 
reflection,  Rushbrook  determined  to  feign  intoxication,  as 
he  had  so  often  done  before  :  he  called  for  another  pint, 
for  some  time  talked  very  loud,  and  at  last  laid  his  head 
on  the  table ;  after  a  time  he  lifted  it  up  again,  drank 
more,  and  then  fell  back  on  the  bench.  By  degrees  the 
company  thinned,  until  there  was  no  one  left  but  the 
schoolmaster,  the  pedlar,  and  the  stranger.  The  school- 
master, as  usual,  offered  to  assist  the  pedlar  in  helping 
Rushbrook  to  his  cottage ;  but  Byres  replied  that  he  was 
busy,  and  that  he  need  not  wait  for  Rushbrook  ;  the  friend 
he  had  with  him  would  assist  him  in  taking  home  the 
drunken  man.  The  schoolmaster  reeled  home,  leaving  the 
two  together.  They  sat  down  on  the  bench,  not  far  from 
Rushbrook,  who  appeared  to  them  to  be  in  the  last  stage 
of  inebriety.  Their  conversation  was  easily  overheard. 
The  pedlar  stated  that  he  had  watched  several  nights,  but 


The  Poacher  19 

never  could  find  when  Rushbrook  left  his  cottage,  but  he 
had  traced  the  boy  more  than  once ;  that  R.  had  promised 
to  have  game  ready  for  him  on  Tuesday,  and  would  go  out 
on  Monday  night  for  it.  In  short,  Rushbrook  discovered 
that  Byres  was  about  to  betray  him  to  the  man,  whom,  in 
the  course  of  their  conversation,  he  found  out  to  be  a 
gamekeeper  newly  hired  by  the  lord  of  the  manor.  After 
a  while  they  broke  up,  Byres  having  promised  to  join  the 
keeper  in  his  expedition  and  to  assist  in  securing  his  former 
ally.  Having  made  these  arrangements,  they  then  took 
hold  of  Rushbrook  by  the  arms,  and  shaking  him  to  rouse 
him  as  much  as  they  could,  they  led  him  home  to  the 
cottage,  and  left  him  in  charge  of  his  wife.  As  soon  as 
the  door  was  closed,  Rushbrook's  long  repressed  anger 
could  no  longer  be  restrained  :  he  started  on  his  feet,  and 
striking  his  fist  on  the  table  so  as  to  terrify  his  wife, 
swore  that  the  pedlar  should  pay  dear  for  his  peaching. 
Upon  his  wife's  demanding  an  explanation,  Rushbrook,  in 
a  few  hurried  sentences,  explained  the  whole.  Jane,  how- 
ever she  might  agree  with  him  in  his  indignation,  like  all 
women,  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  shedding  blood ;  she 
persuaded  her  husband  to  go  to  bed ;  he  consented,  but  he 
slept  not — he  had  but  one  feeling,  which  was,  vengeance 
towards  the  traitor.  When  revenge  enters  into  the  breast 
of  a  man  who  has  lived  peaceably  at  home,  fiercely  as  he 
may  be  impelled  by  the  passion,  he  stops  short  at  the  idea 
of  shedding  blood.  But  when  a  man  who  had,  like 
Rushbrook,  served  so  long  in  the  army,  witnessed  such 
scenes  of  carnage,  and  so  often  passed  his  bayonet  through 
his  adversary's  body,  is  roused  up  by  this  fatal  passion,  the 
death  of  a  fellow-creature  becomes  a  matter  of  indifference 
provided  he  can  gratify  his  feelings.  Thus  it  was  with 
Rushbrook,  who,  before  he  rose  on  the  morning  of  that 
Sabbath,  in  which,  had  he  gone  to  church,  he  could  have 
so  often  requested  his  trespasses  might  be  forgiven,  as  he 
"  forgave  them  who  trespassed  against  him," — had  made 
up  his  mind  that  nothing  short  of  the  pedlar's  death  would 
satisfy  him.     At   breakfast,  he  appeared  to  listen  to  his 


20  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

wife's  entreaties,  and  promised  to  do  the  pedlar  no  harm  ; 
and  told  her,  that  instead  of  going  out  on  the  Monday 
night,  as  he  had  promised,  he  should  go  out  on  that  very 
night,  and  by  that  means  evade  the  snare  laid  for  him. 
Jane  persuaded  him  not  to  go  out  at  all ;  but  this  Rush- 
brook  would  not  consent  to.  He  told  her  that  he  was 
determined  to  show  them  that  he  was  not  to  be  driven  ofF 
his  beat,  and  would  make  Byres  believe  on  Tuesday  night 
that  he  had  been  out  on  the  Monday  night.  Rushbrook's 
object  was  to  have  a  meeting  with  Byres,  if  possible, 
alone,  to  tax  him  with  his  treachery,  and  then  to  take 
the  summary  Vengeance.  Aware  that  Byres  slept  at  the 
ale-house,  he  went  down  there  a  little  before  dark,  and 
told  him  that  he  intended  going  out  on  that  night ;  that  it 
would  be  better  if,  instead  of  coming  on  Tuesday,  he 
were  to  meet  him  at  a  corner  of  one  of  the  covers, 
which  he  described,  at  an  hour  agreed  upon,  when  he 
would  make  over  to  him  the  game  which  he  might 
have  procured.  Byres,  who  saw  in  this  an  excellent  and 
easy  method  of  trapping  Rushbrook,  consented  to  it? 
intending  to  inform  the  keeper,  so  that  he  should  meet 
Rushbrook.  The  time  of  meeting  was  arranged  for 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Rushbrook  was  certain 
that  Byres  would  leave  the  ale-house  an  hour  or  two 
before  the  time  proposed,  which  would  be  more  than 
sufficient  for  his  giving  information  to  the  keeper.  He, 
therefore,  remained  quietly  at  home  till  twelve  o'clock,  when 
he  loaded  his  gun  and  went  out  without  Joey  or  the  dog. 
His  wife,  perceiving  this,  was  convinced  that  he  had  not 
gone  out  with  the  intention  to  poach,  but  was  pursuing  his 
scheme  of  revenge.  She  watched  him  after  he  left 
the  cottage,  and  observed  that  he  had  gone  down  in  the 
direction  of  the  ale-house,  and  she  was  afraid  that  there 
would  be  mischief  between  him  and  Byres,  and  she 
wakened  Joey,  desiring  him  to  follow  and  watch  his  father, 
and  do  all  he  could  to  prevent  it.  Her  communication  was 
made  in  such  a  hurried  manner,  that  it  was  difficult  for 
Joey  to  know  what  he  was  to  do,  except  to  watch  his 


The  Poachei  21 

father's  motions  and  see  what  took  place.  This  Joey 
perfectly  understood,  and  he  was  off  in  an  instant,  followed, 
;as  usual,  by  Mum,  and  taking  with  him  his  sack.  Our 
hero  crept  softly  down  the  pathway,  in  the  direction  of  the 
ale-house.  The  night  was  dark,  for  the  moon  did  not 
rise  until  two  or  three  hours  before  the  morning  broke, 
and  it  was  bitter  cold  j  but  to  darkness  and  cold  Joey  had 
been  accustomed,  and  although  not  seen  himself,  there  was 
no  object  could  move  without  being  scanned  by  his  clear 
vision.  He  gained  a  hedge  close  to  the  ale-house  ;  Mum 
wanted  to  go  on,  by  which  Joey  knew  that  his  father  must 
be  lurking  somewhere  near  to  him — he  pressed  the  dog 
down  with  his  hand,  crouched  himself,  and  watched.  In 
a  few  minutes  a  dark  figure  was  perceived  by  Joey  to  emerge 
from  the  ale-house,  and  walk  hastily  over  a  turnip-field 
behind  the  premises  j  it  had  gained  about  half  over,  when 
another  form,  which  Joey  recognised  as  his  father's, 
stealthily  followed  after  the  first.  Joey  waited  a  little 
time,  and  was  then,  with  Mum,  on  the  steps  of  both  ;  for 
a  mile  and  a  half  each  party  kept  at  their  relative  distances 
until  they  came  near  a  furze  bottom,  which  was  about  six 
hundred  yards  from  the  cover ;  then  the  steps  of  Rushbrook 
were  quickened,  and  those  of  Joey  in  proprotion ;  the  con- 
sequence was,  that  the  three  parties  rapidly  neared  each 
other.  Byres,  for  it  was  he  who  had  quitted  the  ale-house, 
walked  along  leisurely,  having  no  suspicion  that  he  was 
followed.  Rushbrook  was  now  within  fifteen  yards  of  the 
pedlar,  and  Joey  at  even  less  distance  from  his  father,  when 
he  heard  the  lock  of  his  father's  gun  click,  as  he  cocked 
it. 

"  Father,"  said  Joey,  not  over  loud,  "  don't " 

"Who's  there  ?  "  cried  the  pedlar,  turning  round.  The 
only  reply  was  the  flash  and  report  of  the  gun,  and  the 
pedlar  dropped  among  the  furze. 

"  Oh,  father  !  father  !  what  have  you  done  ?  "  exclaimed 
Joey,  coming  up  to  him. 

"  You  here,  Joey  !  "  said  Rushbrook  ;  "  why  are  you 
here?" 


22  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

"  Mother  sent  me,"  replied  Joey. 

"  To  be  evidence  against  me,"  replied  his  father,  mi 
wrath. 

"  Oh  no  !  to  stop  you.  What  have  you  done, 
father  ? " 

"What  I  almost  wish  I  had  not  done  now,"  replied 
he  mournfully  ;  "  but  it  is  done,  and — " 

"  And  what,  father  ?  " 

"I  am  a  murderer,  I  suppose,"  replied  Rushbrook* 
"  He  would  have  'peached,  Joey — have  had  me  transported, 
to  work  in  chains  for  the  rest  of  my  days,  merely  for  taking 
a  few  pheasants.  Let  us  go  home  ;  "  but  Rushbrook  did 
not  move,  although  he  proposed  so  doing.  He  leant  upon 
his  gun,  with  his  eyes  fixed  in  the  direction  where  Byres 
had  fallen. 

Joey  stood  by  him — for  nearly  ten  minutes  not  a  word 
was  spoken.     At  last  Rushbrook  said — 

"  Joey,  my  boy,  I've  killed  many  a  man  in  my  time,  and 
I  have  thought  nothing  of  it ;  I  slept  as  sound  as  ever  the 
next  night.  But  then,  you  see,  I  was  a  soldier,  and 
it  was  my  trade,  and  I  could  look  on  the  man  I  had 
killed  without  feeling  sorrow  or  shame ;  but  I  can't 
upon  this  man,  Joey.  He  was  my  enemy ;  but — 
I've  murdered  him — I  feel  it  now.  Go  up  to  him, 
boy — you  are  not  afraid  to  meet  him — and  see  if  he 
be  dead." 

Joey,  although,  generally  speaking,  fear  was  a  stranger 
to  him,  did,  however,  feel  afraid  ;  his  hands  had  often  been 
dyed  with  the  blood  of  a  hare  or  of  a  bird,  but  he  had  not 
yet  seen  death  in  his  fellow-creatures.  He  advanced 
slowly  and  tremulously  through  the  dark  towards  the 
furze-bush  in  which  the  body  laid  ;  Mum  followed, 
raising  first  one  paw  and  pausing,  then  the  other,  and  as 
they  came  to  the  body,  the  dog  raised  his  head  and  gave 
such  a  mournful  howl,  that  it  induced  our  hero  to  start 
back  again.  After  a  time  Joey  recovered  himself,  and  again 
advanced  to  the  body.  He  leant  over  it,  he  could  distin- 
guish but  the  form  j  he  listened,  and  not  the  slightest 


The  Poacher  23 

breathing  was  to  be  heard ;  he  whispered  the  pedlar's 
name,  but  there  was  no  reply  ;  he  put  his  hand  upon  his 
breast,  and  removed  it  reeking  with  warm  blood. 

"  Father,  he  must  be  dead,  quite  dead,"  whispered 
Joey,  who  returned  trembling.     "  What  shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  We  must  go  home,"  replied  Rushbrook  ;  "  this  is  a 
bad  night's  work ; "  and  without  exchanging  another 
word  until  their  arrival,  Rushbrook  and  Joey  proceeded 
back  to  the  cottage,  followed  by  Mum. 


Chapter  V 

The  sins  of  the  father  are  visited  upon  the  child. 

Jane  had  remained  in  a  state  of  great  anxiety  during  her 
husband's  absence,  watching  and  listening  to  every  sound ; 
every  five  minutes  raising  the  latch  of  the  door,  and  look- 
ing out,  hoping  to  see  him  return.  As  the  time  went  on, 
her  alarm  increased ;  she  laid  her  head  down  on  the  table 
and  wept  j  she  could  find  no  consolation,  no  alleviation  of 
her  anxiety  ;  she  dropped  down  on  her  knees  and  prayed. 

She  was  still  appealing  to  the  Most  High,  when  a  blow 
on  the  door  announced  her  husband's  return.  There  was 
a  sulken  gloom  over  his  countenance  as  he  entered:  he 
threw  his  gun  carelessly  on  one  side,  so  that  it  fell,  and 
rattled  against  the  paved  floor  j  and  this  one  act  was  to 
her  ominous  of  evil.  He  sat  down  without  speaking ; 
falling  back  in  the  chair,  and  lifting  his  eyes  up  to  the 
rafters  above,  he  appeared  to  be  in  deep  thought,  and 
unconscious  of  her  presence. 

"  What  has  happened  ? "  inquired  his  wife,  trembling, 
as  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me  now,"  was  the  reply. 

"Joey,"  said  the  frightened  woman  in  a  whisper, 
"  what  has  he  done  ?  " 

Joey  answered  not,  but  raised  his  hand,  red  with  the 
blood  which  was  now  dried  upon  it. 


24  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

Jane  uttered  a  faint  cry,  dropped  on  her  knees,  and 
covered  her  face,  while  Joey  walked  into  the  back  kitchen, 
and  busied  himself  in  removing  the  traces  of  the  dark 
deed. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  had  elapsed — Joey  had  returned, 
and  taken  his  seat  upon  his  low  stool,  and  not  a  word  had 
been  exchanged. 

There  certainly  is  a  foretaste  of  the  future  punishment 
which  awaits  crime  ;  for  how  dreadful  were  the  feelings 
of  those  who  were  now  sitting  down  in  the  cottage  ! 
Rushbrook  was  evidently  stupefied  from  excess  of  feeling  ; 
first,  the  strong  excitement  which  had  urged  him  to  the 
deed  j  and  now  from  the  re-action,  the  prostration  of 
mental  power  which  had  succeeded  it.  Jane  dreaded  the 
present  and  the  future — whichever  way  she  turned  her 
eyes  the  gibbet  was  before  her — the  clanking  of  chains 
in  her  ears  j  in  her  vision  of  the  future,  scorn,  misery, 
and  remorse — she  felt  only  for  her  husband.  Joey,  poor 
boy,  he  felt  for  both.  Even  the  dog  showed,  as  he 
looked  up  into  Joey's  face,  that  he  was  aware  that  a  foul 
deed  had  been  done.  The  silence,  which  it  appeared 
none  would  venture  to  break,  was  at  last  dissolved  by 
the  clock  of  the  village  church  striking  two.  They  all 
started  up — it  was  a  warning — it  reminded  them  of  the 
bell  tolling  for  the  dead — of  time  and  of  eternity  ;  but 
time  present  quickly  effaced  for  the  moment  other  ideas ; 
yes,  it  was  time  to  act  ;  in  four  hours  more  it  would  be 
daylight,  and  the  blood  of  the  murdered  man  would 
appeal  to  his  fellow-men  for  vengeance.  The  sun  would 
light  them  to  the  deed  of  darkness — the  body  would  be 
brought  home — the  magistrates  would  assemble — and 
who  would  be  the  party  suspected  ? 

"  Merciful  heaven !  "  exclaimed  Jane,  "  what  can  be 
done?" 

**  There  is  no  proof,"  muttered  Rushbrook. 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  observed  Joey,  "  I  left  my  bag  there, 
when  I  stooped  down  to — " 

"  Silence  ! "  cried  Rushbrook,      "  Yes,"  continued  he 


The  Poacher  25 

bitterly  to  his  wife,  "  this  is  your  doing,  you  must  send 
the  boy  after  me,  and  now  there  will  be  evidence  against 
me ;  I  shall  owe  my  death  to  you." 

"  Oh,  say  not  so  !  say  not  so  !  "  replied  Jane,  falling 
down  on  her  knees,  and  weeping  bitterly  as  she  buried 
her  face  in  his  lap  ;  "  but  there  is  yet  time,"  cried  she, 
starting  up,  "  Joey  can  go  and  fetch  the  bag.  You  will, 
Joey :  won't  you,  dear  ?  you  are  not  afraid — you  are 
Innocent." 

"Better  leave  it  where  it  is,  mother,"  replied  Joey, 
calmly. 

Rushbrook  looked  up  at  his  son  with  surprise,  Jane 
caught  him  by  the  arm;  she  felt  convinced  the  boy  had 
some  reason  for  what  he  said — probably  some  plan  that 
would  ward  off  suspicion — yet  how  could  that  be  ?  it  was 
evidence  against  them ;  and  after  looking  earnestly  at  the 
boy's  face,  she  dropped  his  arm.  "  Why  so,  Joey  ? " 
said  she,  with  apparent  calmness. 

"  Because,"  replied  Joey,  "  I  have  been  thinking  about 
it  all  this  time  ;  I  am  innocent,  and  therefore  I  do  not 
mind  if  they  suppose  me  guilty.  The  bag  is  known  to 
be  mine — the  gun  I  must  throw  in  a  ditch  two  fields  off. 
You  must  give  me  some  money,  if  you  have  any ;  if  not, 
I  must  go  without  it ;  but  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost ; 
I  must  be  off  and  away  from  here  in  ten  minutes ;  to- 
morrow ask  everyone  if  they  have  seen  or  heard  of  me, 
because  I  have  left  the  house  some  time  during  the  night. 
I  shall  have  a  good  start  before  that ;  besides  they  may 
not  find  the  pedlar  for  a  day  or  two  perhaps ;  at  all 
events,  not  till  some  time  after  I  am  gone ;  and  then  you 
see,  mother,  the  bag  which  is  found  by  him,  and  the 
gun  in  the  ditch,  will  make  them  think  it  is  me  who 
killed  him ;  but  they  will  not  be  able  to  make  out  whether 
I  killed  him  by  accident,  and  ran  away  from  fear,  or 
whether  I  did  it  on  purpose.  So  now,  mother,  that's  my 
plan,  for  it  will  save  father." 

"  And  I  shall  never  see  you  again,  my  child !  "  replied 
his  mother. 


26  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

"  That's  as  may  be.  You  may  go  away  from  here  after 
a  time,  mother,  when  the  thing  has  blown  over.  Come, 
mother,  there  is  no  time  to  lose." 

"  Rushbrook,  what  say  you — what  think  you  ?  "  said 
Jane  to  her  husband. 

"  Why,  Jane,  at  all  events,  the  boy  must  have  left  us, 
for  you  see,  I  told  Byres,  and  I've  no  doubt  but  he  told 
the  keeper,  if  he  met  him,  that  I  should  bring  Joey  with 
me.  I  did  it  to  deceive  him  ;  and,  as  sure  as  I  sit  here, 
they  will  have  that  boy  up  as  evidence  against  his 
father." 

"  To  be  sure  they  will,"  cried  Joey  ;  "  and  what  could 
I  do  ?  I  dare  not — I  don't  think  I  could — tell  a  lie ;  and 
yet  I  would  not  'peach  upon  father,  neither  What  can 
I  do — but  be  out  of  the  way  ?  " 

"  That's  the  truth — away  with  you,  then,  my  boy,  and 
take  a  father's  blessing  with  you — a  guilty  father's,  it 
is  true  ;  God  forgive  me.  Jane,  give  him  all  the  money 
you  have  \  lose  not  a  moment ;  quick,  woman,  quick." 
And  Rushbrook  appeared  to  be  in  an  agony. 

Jane  hastened  to  the  cupboard,  opened  a  small  box,  and 
poured  the  contents  into  the  hands  of  Joey. 

"  Farewell,  my  boy,"  said  Rushbrook  j  "  your  father 
thanks  you." 

"  Heaven  preserve  you,  my  child,"  cried  Jane,  embracing 
him,  as  the  tears  rained  down  her  cheeks.  "  You  will  write 
— no  !  you  must  not — mercy  ! — mercy  ! — I  shall  never  see 
him  again  !  " — and  the  mother  fainted  on  the  floor. 

The  tears  rose  in  our  hero's  eyes  as  he  beheld  the  con- 
dition of  his  poor  mother.  Once  more  he  grasped  his 
father's  hand  j  and  then,  catching  up  the  gun,  he  went  out 
at  the  back  door,  and  driving  back  the  dog,  who  would 
have  followed  him,  made  over  the  fields  as  fast  as  his  legs 
could  carry  him. 


The  Poacher  27 

Chapter  VI 

The  world  before  him,  where  to  choose. 

We  have  no  doubt  but  many  of  our  readers  have  occasion- 
ally, when  on  a  journey,  come  to  where  the  road  divides 
into  two,  forking  out  in  different  directions,  and,  the  road 
being  new  to  them,  have  not  known  which  of  the  two 
branches  they  ought  to  take.  This  happens,  as  it  often 
does  in  a  novel,  to  be  our  case  just  now.  Shall  we  follow 
little  Joey,  or  his  father  and  mother — that  is  the  question. 
We  believe  that  when  a  road  does  thus  divide,  the  widest 
of  the  two  branches  is  generally  selected,  as  being  sup- 
posed to  be  the  continuation  of  the  high  road.  We  shall 
ourselves  act  upon  that  principle  ;  and,  as  the  hero  of  the 
tale  is  of  more  consequence  than  characters  accessory,  we 
shall  follow  up  the  fortunes  of  little  Joey.  As  soon  as  our 
hero  had  deposited  the  gun  so  that  it  might  be  easily  dis- 
covered by  any  one  passing  by,  he  darted  into  the  high 
road,  and  went  off  with  all  the  speed  that  he  was  capable 
of,  and  it  was  not  yet  light  when  he  found  himself  at  least 
ten  miles  from  his  native  village.  As  the  day  dawned,  he 
quitted  the  high  road,  and  took  to  the  fields,  keeping 
a  parallel  course,  so  as  to  still  increase  his  distance ;  it  was 
not  until  he  had  made  fifteen  miles,  that,  finding  himself 
exhausted,  he  sat  down  to  recover  himself. 

From  the  time  that  he  had  left  the  cottage  until  the 
present,  Joey  had  had  but  one  overwhelming  idea  in  his 
head,  which  was,  to  escape  from  pursuit,  and  by  his 
absence  to  save  his  father  from  suspicion  ;  but  now  that  he 
had  effected  that  purpose,  and  was  in  a  state  of  quiescence, 
other  thoughts  rushed  upon  his  mind.  First,  the  scenes 
of  the  last  few  hours  presented  themselves  in  rapid  array 
before  him — he  thought  of  the  dead  man,  and  he  looked  at 
his  hand  to  ascertain  if  the  bloody  marks  had  been  effaced ; 
and  then  he  thought  of  his  poor  mother's  state  when  he 
quitted  the  cottage,  and  the  remembrance  made  him  weep. 


28  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

bitterly;  his  own  position  came  next  upon  him, — a  boy, 
twelve  years  of  age,  adrift  upon  the  world — how  was  he 
to  live — what  was  he  to  do  ?  This  reminded  him  that  his 
mother  had  given  him  money;  he  put  his  hand  into  his 
pocket,  and  pulled  it  out  to  ascertain  what  he  possessed. 
He  had  ^1,  l6s. ;  to  him  a  large  sum,  and  it  was  all  in 
silver.  As  he  became  more  composed,  he  began  to  reflect 
upon  what  he  had  better  do ;  where  should  he  go  to  ? — 
London.  It  was  a  long  way,  he  knew,  but  the  farther  he 
was  away  from  home,  the  better.  Besides,  he  had  heard 
much  of  London,  and  that  every  one  got  employment 
there.  Joey  resolved  that  he  would  go  to  London ;  he 
knew  that  he  had  taken  the  right  road  so  far,  and  having 
made  up  his  mind,  he  rose  up,  and  proceeded.  He  knew 
that,  if  possible,  he  must  not  allow  himself  to  be  seen  on 
the  road  for  a  day  or  two,  and  he  was  puzzled  how  he  was 
to  get  food,  which  he  already  felt  would  be  very  accept- 
able ;  and  then,  what  account  was  he  to  give  of  himself,  if 
questioned  ?  Such  were  the  cogitations  of  our  little  hero 
as  he  wended  his  way  till  he  came  to  a  river,  which  was 
too  deep  and  rapid  for  him  to  attempt  to  ford — he  was 
obliged  to  return  to  the  high  road  to  cross  the  bridge. 
He  looked  around  him  before  he  climbed  over  the  low  stone 
wall,  and  perceiving  nobody,  he  jumped  on  the  footpath, 
and  proceeded  to  the  bridge,  where  he  suddenly  faced  an 
old  woman  with  a  basket  of  brown  cakes,  something  like 
gingerbread.  Taken  by  surprise,  and  hardly  knowing  what 
to  say,  he  inquired  if  a  cart  had  passed  that  way  ? 

"  Yes,  child,  but  it  must  be  a  good  mile  a-head  of  you,'* 
said  the  old  woman,  "  and  you  must  walk  fast  to  overtake 
it." 

"  I  have  had  no  breakfast  yet,  and  I  am  hungry  ;  do  you 
sell  your  cakes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  child,  what  else  do  I  make  them  for  ?  three  a 
penny,  and  cheap  too." 

Joey  felt  in  his  pocket  until  he  had  selected  a  sixpence, 
and  pulling  it  out,  desired  the  old  woman  to  give  him  cakes 
for  it,  and,  taking  the  pile  in  his  hand,  he  set  off  as  fast  as 


The  Poacher  29 

he  could.  As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  he  again  made 
his  way  into  the  fields,  and  breakfasted  upon  half  his  store. 
He  then  continued  his  journey  until  nearly  one  o'clock, 
when,  tired  out  with  his  exertions,  as  soon  as  he  had 
finished  the  remainder  of  his  cakes,  he  laid  down  under  a 
rick  of  corn  and  fell  fast  asleep,  having  made  twenty  miles 
since  he  started.  In  his  hurry  to  escape  pursuit,  and  the 
many  thoughts  which  occupied  his  brain,  Joey  had  made 
no  observation  on  the  weather ;  if  he  had,  he  probably 
would  have  looked  after  some  more  secure  shelter  than  the 
lee-side  of  a  haystack.  He  slept  soundly,  and  he  had  not 
been  asleep  more  than  an  hour,  when  the  wind  changed, 
and  the  snow  fell  fast ;  nevertheless,  Joey  slept  on,  and 
probably  never  would  have  awakened  more,  had  it  not  been 
that  a  shepherd  and  his  dog  were  returning  home  in  the 
evening,  and  happened  to  pass  close  to  the  haystack.  By 
this  time  Joey  had  been  covered  with  a  layer  of  snow,  half 
an  inch  deep,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  dog,  who  went 
up  to  where  he  laid,  and  commenced  pawing  the  snow  off 
him,  he  would  have  been  passed  by  undiscovered  by  the 
shepherd,  who,  after  some  trouble,  succeeded  in  rousing 
our  hero  from  his  torpor,  and  half  dragging,  half  lifting 
him,  contrived  to  lead  him  across  one  or  two  fields,  until 
they  arrived  at  a  blacksmith's  shop,  in  a  small  village, 
before  Joey  could  have  been  said  to  have  recovered  his 
scattered  senses.  Two  hours  more  sleep,  and  there 
would  have  been  no  further  history  to  give  of  our  little 
hero. 

He  was  dragged  to  the  forge,  the  fire  of  which  glowed 
under  the  force  of  the  bellows,  and  by  degrees,  as  the 
warmth  reached  him,  he  was  restored  to  self-possession. 
To  the  inquiries  made  as  to  who  he  was,  and  from  where 
he  came,  he  now  answered  as  he  had  before  arranged  in  his 
mind.  His  father  and  mother  were  a  long  way  before  him  ; 
he  was  going  to  London,  but  having  been  tired,  he  had 
fallen  asleep  under  the  haystack,  and  he  was  afraid  that  if 
he  went  not  on  to  London  directly,  he  never  might  find  his 
father  and  mother  again. 


3<d  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

"Oh,  then,"  replied  the  shepherd,  "they  have  gone  on 
before,  have  they  ?     Well,  you'll  catch  them,  no  doubt." 

The  blacksmith's  wife,  who  had  been  a  party  to  what 
was  going  on,  now  brought  up  a  little  warm  ale,  which 
quite  re-established  Joey ;  and  at  the  same  time  a  waggon 
drove  up  to  the  door,  and  stopped  at  the  blacksmith's  shop. 

"  I  must  have  a  shoe  tacked  on  the  old  mare,  my  friend," 
said  the  driver.     "  You  won't  be  long  ?  " 

"  Not  five  minutes,"  replied  the  smith.  "  You're  going 
to  London  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sure." 

"Here's  a  poor  boy  that  has  been  left  behind  by  his 
father  and  mother  somehow — you  wouldn't  mind  giving 
him  a  lift  ? " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know ;  I  suppose  I  must  be  paid  for  it 
in  the  world  to  come." 

"And  good  pay  too,  if  you  earn  it,"  observed  the 
blacksmith. 

"Well,  it  won't  make  much  difference  to  my  eight 
horses,  I  expect,"  said  the  driver,  looking  at  Joey ;  "  so 
come  along,  youngster ;  you  may  perch  yourself  on  top  of 
the  straw,  above  the  goods." 

"  First  come  in  with  me,  child,"  said  the  wife  of  the 
blacksmith j  "you  must  have  some  good  victuals  to  take 
with  you — so  while  you  shoe  the  horse,  John,  I'll  see  to 
the  boy." 

The  woman  put  before  Joey  a  dish  in  which  were  the 
remains  of  more  than  one  small  joint,  and  our  hero  com- 
menced his  attack  without  delay. 

"  Have  you  any  money,  child  ?  "  inquired  the  woman. 

Joey,  who  thought  she  might  expect  payment,  replied, 
"  Yes,  ma'am,  I've  got  a  shilling,"  and  he  pulled  one  out 
of  his  pocket  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

"  Bless  the  child !  what  do  you  take  me  for,  to  think 
that  I  would  touch  your  money  ?  you  are  a  long  way  from 
London  yet,  although  you  have  got  such  a  chance  to  get 
there.  Do  you  know  where  to  go  when  you  get 
there?" 


The  Poacher  31 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Joey,  "  I  shall  get  work  in  the 
stables,  I  believe." 

"Well,  I  dare  say  that  you  will;  but  in  the  meantime 
you  had  better  save  your  shilling — so  we'll  find  something 
to  put  this  meat  and  bread  up  for  your  journey.  Are  you 
quite  warm  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank'ee,  ma'am." 

Joey,  who  had  ceased  eating,  had  another  warm  at  the 
fire,  and  in  a  few  minutes,  having  bade  adieu,  and  giving 
his  thanks  to  the  humane  people,  he  was  buried  in  the 
straw  below  the  tilt  of  the  waggon,  with  his  provisions 
deposited  beside  him,  and  the  waggon  went  on  its  slow 
and  steady  pace  to  the  tune  of  its  own  jingling  bells. 
Joey,  who  had  quite  recovered  from  his  chill,  nestled 
among  the  straw,  congratulating  himself  that  he  should 
now  arrive  safely  in  London  without  more  questioning. 
And  such  was  the  case ;  in  three  days  and  three  nights, 
without  any  further  adventure,  he  found  himself,  although 
he  was  not  aware  of  it,  in  Oxford-street,  somewhat  about 
eight  or  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening. 

"  Do  you  know  your  way  now,  boy  ? "  said  the  carman. 

"I  can  ask  it,"  replied  Joey,  "as  soon  as  I  can  go  to 
the  light  and  read  the  address.  Good-bye,  and  thank 
you,"  continued  he,  glad  at  last  to  be  clear  of  any  more 
evasive  replies. 

The  carman  shook  him  by  the  hand  as  they  passed  the 
Boar  and  Castle,  and  bade  him  farewell,  and  our  hero 
found  himself  alone  in  the  vast  metropolis. 

What  was  he  to  do  ?  He  hardly  knew — but  one  thought 
struck  him,  which  was,  that  he  must  find  a  bed  for  the 
night.  He  wandered  up  and  down  Oxford-street  for  some 
time,  but  every  one  walked  so  quick  that  he  was  afraid  to 
speak  to  them — at  last  a  little  girl,  of  seven  or  eight  years 
of  age,  passed  by  him,  and  looked  him  earnestly  in  the 
face. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  get  a  bed  for  the  night  ?  " 
said  Joey. 

"  Have  you  any  brads  ? "  was  the  reply. 


32  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

"  What  are  those  ? "  said  Joey. 

"  Any  money,  to  be  sure  j  why,  you're  green — quite." 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  shilling." 

"  That  will  do — come  along,  and  you  shall  sleep  with 
me. 

Joey  followed  her  very  innocently,  and  very  glad  that 
he  had  been  so  fortunate.  She  led  him  to  a  street  out  of 
Tottenham-court-road,  in  which  there  were  no  lamps — the 
houses,  however,  were  large,  and  many  stories  high. 

"  Take  my  hand,"  said  the  girl,  "  and  mind  how  you 
tread." 

Guided  by  his  new  companion,  Joey  arrived  at  a  door 
that  was  wide  open ;  they  entered,  and,  assisted  by  the 
girl,  he  went  up  a  dark  staircase  to  the  second  storey.  She 
opened  a  room-door,  when  Joey  found  himself  in  company 
with  about  twenty  other  children,  of  about  the  same  age, 
of  both  sexes.  Here  were  several  beds  on  the  floor  of  the 
room,  which  was  spacious.  In  the  centre  were  huddled 
together  on  the  floor,  round  a  tallow  candle,  eight  or  ten 
of  the  inmates,  two  of  them  playing  with  a  filthy  pack  of 
cards,  while  the  others  looked  over  them ;  others  were 
lying  down  or  asleep  on  the  several  beds.  "  This  is  my 
bed,"  said  the  girl  •,  "if  you  are  tired  you  can  turn  in  at 
once.     I  shan't  go  to  bed  yet." 

Joey  was  tired,  and  he  went  to  bed  ;  it  was  not  very 
clean,  but  he  had  been  used  to  worse  lodgings  lately.  It 
need  hardly  be  observed  that  Joey  had  got  into  very  bad 
company,  the  whole  of  the  inmates  of  the  room  consisting 
of  juvenile  thieves  and  pick-pockets,  who  in  the  course  of 
time  obtain  promotion  in  their  profession,  until  they  are 
ultimately  sent  off  to  Botany  Bay.  Attempts  have  been 
made  to  check  these  nurseries  of  vice ;  but  pseudo- 
philanthropists  have  resisted  such  barbarous  innovation  ; 
and,  upon  the  Mosaic  principle,  that  you  must  not  seethe 
the  kid  in  the  mother's  milk,  they  are  protected  and 
allowed  to  arrive  at  full  maturity,  and  beyond  the  chance 
of  being  reclaimed,  until  they  are  ripe  for  the  penalties  of 
the  law. 


The  Poacher  33 

Joey  slept  soundly,  and  when  he  awoke  next  morning 
found  that  his  little  friend  was  not  with  him.  He  dressed 
himself,  and  then  made  another  discovery,  which  was,  that 
every  farthing  of  his  money  had  been  abstracted  from  his 
pockets.  Of  this  unpleasant  fact  he  ventured  to  complain 
to  one  or  two  boys,  who  were  lying  on  other  beds  with 
their  clothes  on ;  they  laughed  at  him,  called  him  a  green- 
horn, and  made  use  of  other  language,  which  at  once  let 
Joey  know  the  nature  of  the  company  with  whom  he  had 
been  passing  the  night.  After  some  altercation  three  or 
four  of  them  bundled  him  out  of  the  room,  and  Joey  found 
himself  in  the  street  without  a  farthing,  and  very  much 
inclined  to  eat  a  good  breakfast. 

There  is  no  portion  of  the  world,  small  as  it  is  in 
comparison  with  the  whole,  in  which  there  is  more  to  be 
found  to  eat  and  to  drink,  more  comfortable  lodgings,  or 
accommodation  and  convenience  of  every  kind  than  in  the 
metropolis  of  England,  provided  you  have  the  means  to 
obtain  it ;  but,  notwithstanding  this  abundance,  there  is  no 
place,  probably,  where  you  will  find  it  more  difficult  to 
obtain  a  portion  of  it,  if  you  happen  to  have  an  empty 
pocket. 

Joey  went  into  a  shop  here  and  there  to  ask  for  employ- 
ment— he  was  turned  away  everywhere.  He  spent  the 
first  day  in  this  manner,  and  at  night,  tired  and  hungry, 
he  laid  down  on  the  stone  steps  of  a  portico,  and  fell 
asleep.  The  next  morning  he  awoke  shivering  with  the 
cold,  faint  with  hunger.  He  asked  at  the  areas  for  some- 
thing to  eat,  but  no  one  would  give  him  anything.  At  a 
pump  he  obtained  a  drink  of  water — that  was  all  he  could 
obtain,  for  it  cost  nothing.  Another  day  passed  without 
food,  and  the  poor  boy  again  sheltered  himself  for  the 
night  at  a  rich  man's  door  in  Berkeley-square. 


J.-k. 


34  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

Chapter  VII 

If  you  want  employment,  go  to  London, 

The  exhausted  lad  awoke  again,  and  pursued  his  useless 
task  of  appeals  for  food  and  employment.  It  was  a  bright 
day,  and  there  was  some  little  warmth  to  be  collected  by 
basking  in  the  rays  of  the  sun,  when  our  hero  wended  his 
way  through  St  James's  Park,  faint,  hungry,  and  disconso- 
late. There  were  several  people  seated  on  the  benches, 
and  Joey,  weak  as  he  was,  did  not  venture  to  go  near 
them,  but  crawled  along.  At  last,  after  wandering  up  and 
down,  looking  for  pity  in  everybody's  face  as  they  passed, 
and  receiving  none,  he  felt  that  he  could  not  stand  much 
longer,  and,  emboldened  by  desperation,  he  approached  a 
bench  that  was  occupied  by  one  person.  At  first  he  only 
rested  on  the  arm  of  the  bench,  but,  as  the  person  sitting 
down  appeared  not  to  observe  him,  he  timidly  took  a  seat 
at  the  further  end.  The  personage  who  occupied  the 
other  part  of  the  bench,  was  a  man  dressed  in  a  morning 
suit  a-la-militaire  and  black  stock.  He  had  clean  gloves 
and  a  small  cane  in  his  hand,  with  which  he  was  describing 
circles  on  the  gravel  before  him,  evidently  in  deep  thought. 
In  height  he  was  full  six  feet,  and  his  proportions  com- 
bined strength  with  symmetry.  His  features  were  remark- 
ably handsome,  his  dark  hair  had  a  natural  curl,  and  his 
whiskers  and  mustachios  (for  he  wore  those  military 
appendages)  were  evidently  the  objects  of  much  attention 
and  solicitude.  We  may  as  well  here  observe,  that 
although  so  favoured  by  nature,  still  there  would  have 
been  considered  something  wanting  in  him  by  those  who 
had  been  accustomed  to  move  in  the  first  circles,  to  make 
him  the  refined  gentleman.  His  movements  and  carriage 
were  not  inelegant,  but  there  was  a  certain  retenue  wanting. 
He  bowed  well,  but  still  it  was  not  exactly  the  bow  of  a 
gentleman.  The  nursery  maids  as  they  passed  by  said, 
"  dear  me,  what  a  handsome  gentleman  ; "  but  had  the 


The  Poacher 


35 


remark  been  made  by  a  higher  class,  it  would  have  been 
qualified  into  "  what  a  handsome  man."  His  age  was 
apparently  about  five-and-thirty — it  might  have  been 
something  more.  After  a  short  time  he  left  off  his 
mechanical  amusements,  and  turning  round,  perceived 
little  Joey  at  the  farther  end.  Whether  from  the  mere 
inclination  to  talk,  or  that  he  thought  it  presuming  in 
our  hero  to  seat  himself  upon  the  same  bench,  he  said 
to  him — 

"  I  hope  you  are  comfortable,  my  little  man ;  but 
perhaps  you've  forgot  your  message." 

"I  have  no  message,  sir,  for  I  know  no  one  ;  and  I  am 
not  comfortable,  for  I  am  starving,"  replied  Joey,  in  a 
tremulous  voice. 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  now,  when  you  say  that,  boy ;  or 
is  it  that  you're  humbugging  me  ?  " 

Joey  shook  his  head.  "  I  have  eaten  nothing  since  the 
day  before  yesterday  morning,  and  I  feel  faint  and  sick," 
replied  he  at  last. 

His  new  companion  looked  earnestly  in  our  hero's  face, 
and  was  satisfied  that  what  he  said  was  true. 

"As  I  hope  to  be  saved,"  exclaimed  he,  "  it's  my 
opinion  that  a  little  bread  and  butter  would  not  be  a  bad 
thing  for  you.  Here,"  continued  he,  putting  his  hand 
into  his  coat  pocket,  "  take  these  coppers,  and  go  and  get 
something  into  your  little  vitals." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  thank  you  kindly.  But  I  don't  know 
where  to  go  j  I  only  came  up  to  London  two  days 
ago." 

"  Then  follow  me  as  fast  as  your  little  pins  can  carry 
you,"  said  the  other.  They  had  not  far  to  go,  for  a  man 
was  standing  close  to  Spring-garden-gate,  with  hot  tea  and 
bread  and  butter,  and  in  a  few  moments  Joey's  hunger  was 
considerably  appeased. 

"  Do  you  feel  better  now,  my  little  cock  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  thank  you." 

"  That's  right,  and  now  we  will  go  back  to  the  bench, 
and  then  you  shall  tell  me  all  about  yourself,  just  to  pass 


$6  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

away  the  time.  "  Now,"  said  he,  as  he  took  his  seat,  "  in 
the  first  place,  who  is  your  father,  if  you  have  any ;  and 
if  you  haven't  any,  what  was  he  ?  " 

"  Father  and  mother  are  both  alive,  but  they  are  a  long 
way  off.  Father  was  a  soldier,  and  he  has  a  pension 
now." 

"  A  soldier  !     Do  you  know  in  what  regiment  ? " 

"  Yes,  it  was  the  53d,  I  think." 

"  By  the  powers,  my  own  regiment !  And  what  is  your 
name,  then,  and  his  ?  " 

"  Rushbrook,"  replied  Joey. 

"  My  pivot  man,  by  all  that's  holy.  Now  haven't  you 
nicely  dropped  on  your  feet  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  replied  our  hero. 

*'  But  I  do  ;  your  father  was  the  best  fellow  I  had  in 
my  company — the  best  forager,  and  always  took  care  of  his 
officer,  as  a  good  man  should  do.  If  there  was  a  turkey, 
or  a  goose,  or  a  duck,  or  a  fowl,  or  a  pig  within  ten  miles 
of  us,  he  would  have  it :  he  was  the  boy  for  poaching. 
And  now  tell  me  (and  mind  you  tell  the  truth  when  you 
meet  with  a  friend)  what  made  you  leave  your  father  and 
mother  ?  " 

"  I  was  afraid  of  being  taken  up — "  and  here  Joey- 
stopped,  for  he  hardly  knew  what  to  say ;  trust  his  new 
acquaintance  with  his  father's  secret  he  dared  not ;  neither 
did  he  like  to  tell  what  was  directly  false  j  as  the  reader 
will  perceive  by  his  reply,  he  partly  told  the  truth. 

"  Afraid  of  being  taken  up  !  why,  what  could  they  take 
up  a  spalpeen  like  you  for  ?  " 

"  Poaching,"  replied  Joey ;  "father  poached  too;  they 
had  proof  against  me,  so  I  came  away — with  father's 
consent." 

"  Poaching  !  well,  I'm  not  surprised  at  that,  for  if  ever 
it  was  in  the  blood,  it  is  in  your's — that's  truth.  And 
what  do  you  mean  to  do  now  ? " 

"  Anything  I  can  to  earn  my  bread." 

"  What  can  you  do — besides  poaching,  of  course  ?  Can 
you  read  and  write  ?  " 


The  Poacher  $y 

"  Oh,  yes/' 

"  Would  you  like  to  be  a  servant — clean  boots,  brush 
clothes,  stand  behind  a  cab,  run  messages,  carry  notes,  and 
hold  your  tongue  ?  " 

"  I  could  do  all  that,  I  think — I  am  twelve  years  old." 

"  The  devil  you  are  ;  well  then,  for  your  father's  sake, 
I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you,  till  you  can  do  better. 
I'll  fit  you  out  as  a  tiger,  and  what's  more,  unless  I  am 
devilish  hard  up,  I  won't  sell  you.  So  come  along. 
What's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Joey." 

"  Sure  that  was  your  father's  name  before  you,  I  now 
recollect ;  and  should  any  one  take  the  trouble  to  ask  you 
what  may  be  the  name  of  your  master,  you  may  reply  with 
a  safe  conscience,  that  it's  Captain  O'Donahue.  Now, 
come  along.  Not  close  after  me — you  may  as  well  keep 
open  file  just  now,  till  I've  made  you  look  a  little  more 
decent." 


Chapter    VIII 

A  dissertation  upon  pedigree. 

Our  readers  will  not  perhaps  be  displeased  if  we  introduce 
Captain  O'Donahue  more  particularly  to  their  notice ;  we 
shall  therefore  devote  this  chapter  to  giving  some  account 
of  his  birth,  parentage,  and  subsequent  career.  If  the 
father  of  Captain  O'Donahue  was  to  be  believed,  the  race 
of  the  O'Donahues  were  kings  in  Ireland  long  before  the 
O'Connors  were  ever  heard  of.  How  far  this  may  be 
correct  we  cannot  pretend  to  offer  an  opinion,  further 
than  that  no  man  can  be  supposed  to  know  so  much  of  a 
family's  history  as  the  descendant  himself.  The  documents 
were  never  laid  before  us,  and  we  have  only  the  positive 
assertion  of  the  Squireen  O'Donahue,  who  asserted  not 
only  that  they  were  kings  in  Ireland  before  the  O'Connors, 
whose  pretensions  to  ancestry  he  treated  with  contempt, 


38  Joseph  Rushbrook;   or, 

but  further,  that  they  were  renowned  for  their  strength, 
and  were  famous  for  using  the  longest  bows  in  battle 
that  were  ever  known  or  heard  of.  Here  we  have 
circumstantial  evidence,  although  not  proof.  If  strong, 
they  might  have  been  kings  in  Ireland,  for  there  "might 
has  been  right"  for  many  centuries,  and  certainly  their 
acquirements  were  handed  down  to  posterity,  as  no  one 
was  more  famous  for  drawing  the  long  bow  than  the 
Squireen  O'Donahue.  Upon  these  points,  however,  we 
must  leave  our  readers  to  form  their  own  opinions. 
Perhaps  some  one  more  acquainted  with  the  archives  of 
the  country  may  be  able  to  set  us  right  if  we  are  wrong, 
or  to  corroborate  our  testimony  if  we  are  right.  In  his 
preface  to  "  Anne  of  Geierstein,"  Sir  Walter  Scott 
observes  that  "  errors,  however  trivial,  ought,  in  his 
opinion,  never  to  be  pointed  out  to  the  author,  without 
meeting  with  a  candid  and  respectful  acknowledgment." 
Following  the  example  of  so  great  a  man,  we  can  only 
say,  that  if  any  gentleman  can  prove  or  disprove  the 
assertion  of  the  Squireen  O'Donahue,  to  wit,  that  the 
O'Donahues  were  kings  of  Ireland  long  before  the 
O'Connors  were  heard  of,  we  shall  be  most  happy  to 
acknowledge  the  favour,  and  insert  his  remarks  in  the 
next  edition.  We  should  be  further  obliged  to  the  same 
party,  or  indeed  any  other,  if  they  would  favour  us  with 
an  idea  of  what  was  implied  by  a  king  of  Ireland  in  those 
days  ;  that  is  to  say,  whether  he  held  a  court,  taxed  his 
subjects,  collected  revenue,  kept  up  a  standing  army, 
sent  ambassadors  to  foreign  countries,  and  did  all  which 
kings  do  now-a-days  ?  or  whether  his  shillelagh  was  his 
sceptre,  and  his  domain  some  furze-crowned  hills  and 
a  bog,  the  intricacies  of  which  were  known  only  to 
himself?  whether  he  was  arrayed  in  jewelled  robes,  with 
a  crown  of  gold  weighing  on  his  temples  ?  or  whether  he 
went  bare-legged  and  bare-armed,  with  his  bare  locks 
flowing  in  luxurious  wildness  to  the  breeze  ?  We  request 
an  answer  to  this  in  full  simplicity.  We  observe  that 
even  in  Ireland,  now,  a  fellow  six  feet  high,  and  stout 


The  Poacher  39 

in  proportion,  is  called  a  "  prince  of  a  fellow,"  although 
he  has  not  wherewithal  to  buy  a  paper  of  tobacco  to 
supply  his  dudeen :  and,  arguing  from  this  fact,  we  are 
inclined  to  think  that  a  few  more  inches  in  stature,  and 
commensurate  muscular  increase  of  power,  would  in 
former  times  have  raised  the  "  heir  apparent "  to  the 
dignity  of  the  Irish  throne.  But  these  abstruse  specula- 
tions have  led  us  from  our  history,  which  we  must  now 
resume. 

Whatever  may  once  have  been  the  importance  of  the 
house  of  O'Donahue,  one  thing  is  certain,  that  there  are 
many  ups  and  downs  in  this  world ;  every  family  in  it 
has  its  wheel  of  fortune,  which  revolves  faster  or  slower 
as  the  fates  decree,  and  the  descendant  of  kings  before 
the  O'Connors'  time  was  now  descended  into  a  species  of 
Viceroy,  Squireen  O'Donahue  being  the  steward  of  certain 
wild  estates  in  the  county  of  Galway,  belonging  to  a 
family,  who  for  many  years  had  shown  a  decided  aversion 
to  the  natural  beauties  of  the  country,  and  had  thought 
proper  to  migrate  to  where,  if  people  were  not  so  much 
attached  to  them,  they  were  at  all  events  more  civilised. 
These  estates  were  extensive,  but  not  lucrative.  They 
abounded  in  rocks,  brushwood  and  woodcocks  during  the 
season;  and  although  the  Squireen  O'Donahue  did  his 
best,  if  not  for  his  employer,  at  least  for  himself,  it  was 
with  some  difficulty  that  he  contrived  to  support,  with 
anything  like  respectability  (which  in  that  part  of  the 
country  means  "dacent  clothes  to  were"),  a  very  numerous 
family,  lineally  descended  from  the  most  ancient  of  all  the 
kings  of  Ireland. 

Before  the  Squireen  had  obtained  his  employment,  he  had 
sunk  his  rank  and  travelled  much — as  a  courier — thereby 
gaining  much  knowledge  of  the  world.  If,  therefore,  he 
had  no  wealth  to  leave  his  children,  at  all  events,  he  could 
impart  to  them  that  knowledge  which  is  said  to  be  better 
than  worldly  possessions.  Having  three  sons  and  eight 
daughters,  all  of  them  growing  up  healthy  and  strong, 
with  commensurate  appetites,  he  soon  found  that  it  was 


40  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  or, 

necessary  to  get  rid  of  them  as  fast  as  he  could.  His 
eldest,  who,  strange  to  say,  for  an  O'Donahue,  was  a 
quiet  lad,  he  had  as  a  favour  lent  to  his  brother,  who  kept 
a  small  tobacconist  and  grocer's  shop  in  Dublin,  and  his 
brother  was  so  fond  of  him,  that  eventually  O'Carroll 
O'Donahue  was  bound  to  him  as  an  apprentice.  It 
certainly  was  a  degradation  for  the  descendant  of  such 
ancient  kings  to  be  weighing  out  pennyworths  of  sugar, 
and  supplying  halfpenny  papers  of  tobacco  to  the  old  apple 
and  fish-women  ;  but  still  there  we  must  leave  the  heir 
apparent  while  we  turn  to  the  second  son  Mr  Patrick 
O'Donahue,  whose  history  we  are  now  relating,  having 
already  made  the  reader  acquainted  with  him  by  an  intro- 
duction in  St  James's  Park. 


Chapter  IX 

In  which  the  advice  of  a  father  deserves  peculiar  attention. 

It  may  be  supposed  that,  as  steward  of  the  estates, 
Squireen  O'Donahue  had  some  influence  over  the  numerous 
tenants  on  the  property,  and  this  influence  he  took  care  to 
make  the  most  of.  His  assistance  in-  a  political  contest 
was  rewarded  by  the  offer  of  an  ensigncy  for  one  of  his 
sons,  in  a  regiment  then  raising  in  Ireland,  and  this  offer 
was  too  good  to  be  refused.  So,  one  fine  day,  Squireen 
O'Donahue  came  home  from  Dublin,  well  bespattered 
with  mud,  and  found  his  son  Patrick  also  well  bespattered 
with  mud,  having  just  returned  home  from  a  very  success- 
ful expedition  against  the  woodcocks. 

,"  Patrick,  my  jewel,"  said  the  Squireen,  taking  a  seat 
and  wiping  his  face,  for  he  was  rather  warm  with  his  ride, 
"  you're  a  made  man." 

"  And  well  made  too,  father,  if  the  girls  are  anything  of 
judges,"  replied  Patrick. 

"  You  put  me  out,"  replied  the  Squireen ;  "  you've 
more  to  be  vain  of  than  your  figure." 


The  Poacher  41 

"  And  what  may  that  be,  that  you're  discoursing  about, 
father  ? " 

"  Nothing  more  nor  less,  nor  better  nor  worse,  but  you're 
an  ensign  in  his  Majesty's  new  regiment — the  number  has 
escaped  my  memory." 

"  I'd  rather  be  a  colonel,  father,"  replied  Patrick, 
musing. 

"  The  colonel's  to  come,  you  spalpeen,"  said  the 
Squireen. 

"  And  the  fortune  to  make,  I  expect,"  replied 
Patrick. 

"  You've  just  hit  it ;  but  haven't  you  the  whole  world 
before  you  to  pick  and  choose  ? " 

"Well,"  replied  Patrick,  after  a  pause,  "I've  no 
objection." 

"  No  objection  !  Why  don't  you  jump  out  of  your  skin 
with  delight  ?  At  all  events  you  might  jump  high  enough 
to  break  in  the  caling." 

"There's  no  ceiling  to  break,"  replied  Patrick,  looking 
up  at  the  rafters. 

"That's  true  enough;  but  still  you  might  go  out  of 
your  seven  senses  in  a  rational  sort  of  a  way." 

"  I  really  can't  see  for  why,  father  dear.  You  tell  me 
I'm  to  leave  my  poor  old  mother,  who  doats  upon  me ; 
my  sisters,  who  are  fond  of  me  ;  my  friends  here  (patting 
the  dogs),  who  follow  me ;  the  hills,  that  I  love  ;  and  the 
woodcocks,  which  I  shoot ;  to  go  to  be  shot  at  myself,  and 
buried  like  a  dead  dog,  without  being  skinned,  on  the  field 
of  battle." 

"  I  tell  you  to  go  forth  into  the  world  as  an  officer,  and 
make  your  fortune  ;  to  come  back  a  general,  and  be  the 
greatest  man  of  your  family.  And  don't  be  too  unhappy 
about  not  being  skinned.  Before  you  are  older  or  wiser, 
dead  or  alive,  you'll  be  skinned,  I'll  answer  for  it." 

"Well,  father,  I'll  go;  but  I  expect  there'll  be  a  good 
deal  of  ground  to  march  over  before  I'm  a  general." 

"  And  you've  a  good  pair  of  legs." 

"  So  I'm  told  every  day  of  my  life.     I'll  make  the  best 


42  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

use  of  them  when  I  start ;  but  it's  the  starting  I  don't  like, 
and  that's  the  real  truth." 

The  reader  may  be  surprised  at  the  indifference  shown 
by  Patrick  at  the  intelligence  communicated  by  his  father ; 
but  the  fact  was,  Mr  Patrick  O'Donahue  was  very  deep  in 
love.  This  cooled  his  national  ardour ;  and  it  must  be 
confessed  that  there  was  every  excuse,  for  a  more  lovely 
creature  than  Judith  M'Crae  never  existed.  To  part  with 
her  was  the  only  difficulty,  and  all  his  family  feelings  were 
but  a  cloak  to  the  real  cause  of  his  unwillingness. 

"  Nevertheless,  you  must  start  to-morrow,  my  boy," 
said  his  father. 

"What  must  be,  must,"  replied  Patrick,  "so  there's  an 
end  of  the  matter.  I'll  just  go  out  for  a  bit  of  a  walk, 
just  to  stretch  my  legs." 

"  They  require  a  deal  of  stretching,  Pat,  considering 
you've  been  twenty  miles,  at  least,  this  morning,  over  the 
mountains,"  replied  the  Squireen.  But  Patrick  was  out  of 
hearing  ;  he  had  leapt  over  a  stone  wall  which  separated 
his  father's  potato-ground  from  Cornelius  M'Crae's,  and 
had  hastened  to  Judith,  whom  he  found  very  busy  getting 
the  dinner  ready. 

"Judith,  my  dear,"  said  Patrick,  "my  heart's  quite 
broke  with  the  bad  news  I  have  to  tell  you.  Sure  I'm 
going  to  leave  you  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Now,  Patrick,  you're  joking,  surely." 

"  Devil  a  joke  in  it.     I'm  an  ensign  in  a  regiment." 

"  Then  I'll  die,  Patrick." 

"More  like  that  I  will,  Judith;  what  with  grief  and  a 
bullet  to  help  it,  perhaps." 

"Now,  what  d'ye  mean  to  do,  Patrick  ?" 

"Mean  to  go,  sure;  because  I  can't  help  myself;  and 
to  come  back  again,  if  ever  I've  the  luck  of  it.  My  heart's 
leaping  out  of  my  mouth  entirely." 

"  And  mine's  dead,"  replied  Judith,  in  tears. 

"It's  no  use  crying,  mavourneen.  I'll  be  back  to  dance 
at  my  own  wedding,  if  so  be  I  can." 

"There'll   be   neither    wedding    for  you,   Patrick,   nor 


The  Poacher  43 

wake  either,  for  you'll  lie  on  the  cold  ground,  and  be 
ploughed  in  like  muck." 

"That's  but  cold  comfort  from  you,  Judith,  but  we'll 
hope  for  a  better  ending ;  but  I  must  go  back  now,  and 
you'll  meet  me  this  evening  beyond  the  shealing." 

"  Won't  it  be  for  the  last  time,  Patrick  ? "  replied 
Judith,  with  her  apron  up  to  her  eyes. 

"  If  I've  any  voice  in  the  matter,  I  say  no.  Please  the 
pigs,  I'll  come  back  a  colonel." 

"  Then  you'll  be  no  match  for  Judith  M'Crae,"  replied 
the  sobbing  girl. 

"  Shoot  easy,  my  Judith,  that's  touching  my  honour  ;  if 
I'm  a  general,  it  will  be  all  the  same." 

"  Oh,  Patrick  !  Patrick  !  " 

Patrick  folded  Judith  in  his  arms,  took  one  kiss,  and 
then  hastened  out  of  the  house,  saying — "  Remember  the 
shealing,  Judith  dear,  there  we'll  talk  the  matter  over  easy 
and  comfortable." 

Patrick  returned  to  his  house,  where  he  found  his 
mother  and  sisters  in  tears.  They  had  received  orders  to 
prepare  his  wardrobe,  which,  by-the-bye,  did  not  give 
them  much  trouble  from  its  extent ;  they  only  had  to  mend 
every  individual  article.  His  father  was  sitting  down  by 
the  hearth,  and  when  he  saw  Patrick  he  said  to  him — 
"  Now  just  come  here,  my  boy,  and  take  a  stool,  while 
you  listen  to  me  and  learn  a  little  worldly  wisdom,  for  I 
may  not  have  much  time  to  talk  to  you  when  we  are  at 
Dublin." 

Patrick  took  a  seat  and  was  all  attention. 

"You'll just  observe,  Pat,  that  it's  a  very  fine  thing  to 
be  an  officer  in  the  king's  army ;  nobody  dares  to  treat 
you  ill,  although  you  may  ill-treat  others,  which  is  no 
small  advantage  in  this  world." 

"  There's  truth  in  that,"  replied  Patrick. 

"  You  see,  when  you  get  into  an  enemy's  country, 
you  may  help  yourself;  and,  if  you  look  sharp,  there's 
very  pretty  pickings — all  in  a  quiet  way,  you  under- 
stand." 


44  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

"  That,  indeed." 

"  You  observe,  Pat,  that,  as  one  of  his  officers,  the 
king  expects  you  to  appear  and  live  like  a  gentleman, 
only  he  forgets  to  give  you  the  means  of  so  doing  ;  you 
must,  therefore,  take  all  you  can  get  from  his  Majesty, 
and  other  people  must  make  up  the  difference." 

"  That's  a  matter  o'  course,"  said  Patrick. 

"  You'll  soon  see  your  way  clear,  and  find  out  what 
you  may  be  permitted  to  do  and  what  you  may  not  j  for 
the  king  expects  you  to  keep  up  the  character  of  a  gentle- 
man as  well  as  the  appearance." 

"  O'  course." 

"  Mayhap,  you  may  be  obliged  to  run  in  debt  a  little — 
a  gentleman  may  do  that  j  mayhap  you  may  not  be  able 
to  pay — that's  a  gentleman's  case  very  often — if  so,  never 
go  so  far  as  twenty  pounds  j  first,  because  the  law  don't 
reach ;  and  secondly,  because  twenty  pound  is  quite 
enough  to  make  a  man  suffer  for  the  good  of  his  country." 

"  There's  sense  in  that,  father." 

"  And,  Patrick,  recollect  that  people  judge  by  appear- 
ances in  this  world,  especially  when  they've  nothing  else 
to  go  by.  If  you  talk  small,  your  credit  will  be  small  ; 
but  if  you  talk  large,  it  will  be  just  in  proportion." 

"I  perceive,  father." 

"  It's  not  much  property  we  possess  in  this  said  county 
of  Galway,  that's  certain  j  but  you  must  talk  of  this 
property  as  if  I  was  the  squire,  and  not  the  steward  ; 
and  when  you  talk  of  the  quantity  of  woodcocks  you 
have  bagged,  you  must  say  on  our  property." 

"  I  understand,  father." 

"  And  you  must  curse  your  stars  at  being  a  younger 
brother ;  it  will  be  an  excuse  for  your  having  no  money, 
but  will  make  them  believe  it's  in  the  family,  at  all 
events." 

"  I  perceive,"  replied  Patrick. 

"  There's  one  thing  more,  Pat  ;  it's  an  Irish  regiment, 
so  you  must  get  out  of  it  as  soon  as  possible,  by  ex- 
change." 


The  Poacher  45 

"  For  why  ?  " 

"  This  for  why.  You  will  be  among  those  born  too 
near  home,  and  who  may  doubt  all  you  say,  because  your 
story  may  interfere  with  their  own.  Get  into  an  English 
regiment  by  all  means,  and  there  you'll  be  beyond  the 
reach  of  contradiction,  which  a'nt  pleasant." 

"  True  enough,  father." 

"  Treasure  up  all  I  have  told  you — it's  worldly  wisdom, 
and  you  have  your  fortune  to  make  ;  so  now  recollect, 
never  hold  back  at  a  forlorn  hope ;  volunteer  for  every- 
thing ;  volunteer  to  be  blown  from  a  cannon's  mouth, 
so  that  they  will  give  you  promotion  for  that  same ; 
volunteer  to  go  all  over  the  world,  into  the  other  world, 
and  right  through  that  again  into  the  one  that  comes  after 
that,  if  there  is  any,  and  then  one  thing  will  be  certain, 
either  that  you'll  be  a  colonel  or  general,  or  else " 

"  Else  what,  father  ?  " 

"That  you  won't  require  to  be  made  either,  seeing 
that  you'll  be  past  all  making  ;  but  luck's  all,  and  lucky 
it  is,  by-the-bye,  that  I've  a  little  of  the  squire's  rent  in 
hand,  to  fit  you  out  with,  or  how  we  should  have  managed 
the  saints  only  know.  As  it  is,  I  must  sink  it  on  the 
next  year's  account,  but  that's  more  easy  to  do  than  to 
fit  you  out  with  no  money.  I  must  beg  the  tenants  off; 
make  the  potato  crop  fail  entirely,  and  report  twenty  by 
name,  at  least,  dead  of  starvation.  Serve  him  right,  for 
spending  his  money  out  of  Old  Ireland.  It's  only  out  of 
real  pathriotism  that  I  cheat  him — just  to  spend  the  money 
in  the  country.  And  now,  Patrick,  I've  done  ;  now  you 
may  go  and  square  your  accounts  with  Judith,  for  I  know 
now  where  the  cat  jumps  ;  but  I'll  leave  old  Time  alone 
for  doing  his  work." 

Such  was  the  advice  of  the  Squireen  to  his  son  ;  and, 
as  worldly  wisdom,  it  was  not  so  bad ;  and  certainly, 
when  a  lad  is  cast  a-drift  in  the  world,  the  two  best 
things  you  can  bestow  on  him  are  a  little  worldly  wisdom 
and  a  little  money,  for,  without  the  former,  the  latter 
and  he  will  soon  part  company. 


46  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

The  next  day  they  set  off  for  Dublin,  Patrick's  head 
being  in  a  confused  jumble  of  primitive  good  feeling, 
Judith  M'Crae,  his  father's  advice,  and  visions  of  future 
greatness.  He  was  fitted  out,  introduced  to  the  officers, 
and  then  his  father  left  him  his  blessing  and  his  own 
way  to  make  in  the  world.  In  a  fortnight  the  regiment 
was  complete,  and  they  were  shipped  to  Liverpool  and 
from  Liverpool  to  Maidstone,  where,  being  all  newly-raised 
men,  they  were  to  remain  for  a  time,  to  be  disciplined. 
Before  the  year  had  expired,  Patrick  had  followed  his 
father's  advice  and  exchanged,  receiving  a  difference  with 
an  ensign  of  a  regiment  going  on  foreign  service.  He 
was  sent  to  the  West  Indies,  but  the  seasons  were  healthy, 
and  he  returned  home  an  ensign.  He  volunteered  abroad 
again,  after  five  years,  and  gained  his  lieutenant's  com- 
mission, from  a  death  vacancy,  without  purchase. 

After  a  fifteen  years'  hard  service,  the  desired  captain's 
commission  came  at  last,  and  O'Donahue,  having  been 
so  unsuccessful  in  his  military  career,  retired  upon  half- 
pay,  determined,  if  possible,  to  offer  his  handsome  person 
in  exchange  for  competence.  But  during  the  fifteen 
years  which  had  passed  away,  a  great  change  had  come 
over  the  ingenuous  and  unsophisticated  Patrick  O'Donahue; 
he  had  mixed  so  long  with  a  selfish  and  heartless  world, 
that  his  primitive  feelings  had  gradually  worn  away. 
Judith  had,  indeed,  never  been  forgotten,  but  she  was 
now  at  rest,  for,  by  mistake,  Patrick  had  been  returned 
dead  of  the  yellow  fever,  and  at  the  intelligence  she  had 
drooped  like  a  severed  snowdrop  and  died.  The  only 
tie  strong  enough  to  induce  him  to  return  to  Ireland  was, 
therefore,  broken,  his  father's  worldly  advice  had  not 
been  forgotten,  O'Donahue  considered  the  world  as  his 
oyster.  Expensive  in  his  habits  and  ideas,  longing  for 
competence,  while  he  vegetated  on  half-pay,  he  was  now 
looking  out  for  a  matrimonial  speculation.  His  generosity 
and  his  courage  remained  with  him — two  virtues  not  to 
be  driven  out  of  an  Irishman, — but  his  other  good  qualities 
lay  in  abeyance  ;  and  yet  his  better  feelings  were  by  no 


The  Poacher  47 

means  extinguished  ;  they  were  dormant,  but  by  favour- 
able circumstances  were  again  to  be  brought  into  action. 
The  world  and  his  necessities  made  him  what  he  was, 
for  many  were  the  times,  for  years  afterwards,  that  he 
would,  in  his  reveries  surmise  how  happy  he  might  have 
been  in  his  own  wild  country,  where  half-pay  would 
have  been  competence,  had  his  Judith  been  spared  to  him, 
and  he  could  have  laid  his  head  upon  her  bosom. 


Chapter  X 

In  which  Major  M'Shane  narrates  some  curious  matrimonial  speculations. 

Our  hero  was  soon  fitted  out  with  the  livery  of  a  groom, 
and  installed  as  the  confidential  servant  of  Captain 
O'Donahue,  who  had  lodgings  on  the  third  floor  in  a 
fashionable  street.  He  soon  became  expert  and  useful, 
and  as  the  Captain  breakfasted  at  home,  and  always 
ordered  sufficient  for  Joey  to  make  another  cold  meal  of 
during  the  day,  he  was  at  little  or  no  expense  to  his 
master. 

One  morning,  when  Captain  O'Donahue  was  sitting  in 
his  dressing-gown  at  breakfast,  Joey  opened  the  door,  and 
announced  Major  M'Shane. 

"  Is  it  yourself,  O'Donahue  ? "  said  the  Major,  extending 
his  hand ;  "  and,  now,  what  d'ye  think  has  brought  me 
here  this  fine  morning  ?  It's  to  do  a  thing  that's  rather 
unusual  with  me,  neither  more  nor  less  than  to  pay  you  the 
^20  which  you  lent  me  a  matter  of  three  years  ago,  and 
which,  I  dare  say,  you  never  expected  to  see  anything  but 
the  ghost  of." 

"Why,  M'Shane,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  it  will  be 
something  of  a  resurrection  when  it  appears  before  me," 
replied  O'Donahue  j  "I  considered  it  dead  and  buried  ; 
and  like  those  who  are  dead  and  buried,  it  has  been  long 
forgotten." 

"Nevertheless,   here    it    is,   in   four   notes — one,  two, 


48  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

three,  four :  four  times  five  is  twenty  ;  there's  arithmetic 
for  you,  and  your  money  to  boot,  and  many  thanks  in 
the  bargain,  by  way  of  interest.  And  now,  O'Donahue, 
where  have  you  been,  what  have  you  been  doing,  what  are 
you  doing,  and  what  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  That's  what 
I  call  a  comprehensive  inquiry,  and  a  very  close  one  too." 

"  I  have  been  in  London  a  month,  I  have  done  nothing, 
I  am  doing  nothing,  and  I  don't  know  what  I  intend  to  do. 
You  may  take  that  for  a  comprehensive  answer." 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  myself  without  your  asking.  I 
have  been  in  London  for  nearly  two  years,  one  of  which  I 
spent  in  courting  and  the  other  in  matrimony." 

"Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are  married, 
M'Shane ;  if  so,  as  you've  been  married  a  year,  you  can 
tell  me,  am  I  to  give  you  joy  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  believe  you  may ;  there's  nothing  so 
stupid,  O'Donahue,  as  domestic  happiness,  that's  a  fact ; 
but,  altogether,  I  have  been  so  large  a  portion  of  my  life 
doubtful  where  I  was  to  get  a  dinner,  that  I  think  that  on 
the  whole  I  have  made  a  very  good  choice." 

"  And  may  I  inquire  who  is  the  party  to  whom  Major 
M'Shane  has  condescended  to  sacrifice  his  handsome 
person  ? " 

"  Is  it  handsome  you  mane  ?  As  the  ugly  lady  said  to 
the  looking-glass,  I  beg  no  reflections — you  wish  to  know 
who  she  is  ;  well,  then,  you  must  be  content  to  listen  to 
all  my  adventures  from  the  time  we  parted,  for  she  is  at 
the  end  of  them,  and  I  can't  read  backwards." 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  so  begin  as  you  please." 

"  Let  me  see,  O'Donahue,  where  was  it  that  we 
parted  ? " 

"  If  I  recollect,  it  was  at  the   landing    made    at , 

where  you  were  reported  killed." 

"  Very  true,  but  that,  I  give  my  honour,  was  all  a  lie  ; 
it  was  fat  Sergeant  Murphy  that  was  killed,  instead  of 
me.  He  was  a  terrible  fellow,  that  Sergeant  Murphy  ;  he 
got  himself  killed  on  purpose,  because  he  never  could  have 
passed  his  accounts  :  well,  he  fought  like  a  devil,  so  peace 


The  Poacher  49 

be  with  him.  I  was  knocked  down,  as  you  know,  with  a 
bullet  in  my  thigh,  and  as  I  could  not  stand  I  sat  upon  the 
carcase  of  Sergeant  Murphy,  bound  up  my  leg,  and 
meditated  on  sublunary  affairs.  I  thought  what  a  great 
rogue  he  was,  that  Sergeant  Murphy,  and  how  he'd  gone 
out  of  the  world  without  absolution ;  and  then  I 
thought  it  very  likely  that  he  might  have  some  money 
about  him,  and  how  much  better  it  would  be  that  I 
should  have  it  to  comfort  me  in  prison  than  any 
rascally  Frenchman ;  so  I  put  my  hand  in  his  pocket  and 
borrowed  his  purse,  which  was,  taking  the  difference  of 
size,  as  well  lined  as  himself.  Well,  as  you  had  all 
retreated  and  left  me  to  be  taken  prisoner,  I  waited  very 
patiently  till  they  should  come  and  carry  me  to  the  hospital, 
or  wherever  else  they  pleased.  They  were  not  long 
coming  for  me  ;  one  fellow  would  have  passed  his  bayonet 
through  me,  but  I  had  my  pistol  cocked,  so  he  thought  it 
advisable  to  take  me  prisoner.  I  was  taken  into  the  town, 
not  to  the  hospital  or  the  prison,  but  quartered  at  the 
house  of  an  old  lady  of  high  rank  and  plenty  of  money. 
Well,  the  surgeon  came  and  very  politely  told  me  that  he 
must  cut  off  my  leg,  and  I  very  politely  told  him  to  go  to 
the  devil ;  and  the  old  lady  came  in  and  took  my  part, 
when  she  saw  what  a  handsome  leg  it  was,  and  sent  for 
another  doctor  at  her  own  expense,  who  promised  to  set 
me  on  my  pins  in  less  than  a  month.  Well,  the  old  lady 
fell  in  love  with  me  j  and  although  she  was  not  quite  the 
vision  of  youthful  fancy,  as  the  saying  is,  for  she  had  only 
one  tooth  in  her  head,  and  that  stuck  out  half-an-inch 
beyond  her  upper  lip,  still  she  had  other  charms  for  a  poor 
devil  like  me;  so  I  made  up  my  mind  to  marry  her,  for 
she  made  cruel  love  to  me  as  I  lay  in  bed,  and  before 
I  was  fairly  out  of  bed  the  thing  was  settled,  and  a  week 
afterwards  the  day  was  fixed  ;  but  her  relatives  got  wind 
of  it,  for,  like  an  old  fool,  she  could  not  help  blabbing, 
and  so  one  day  there  came  a  file  of  soldiers  with  a 
corporal  at  their  head,  informing  me  that  I  was  now  quite 
well,  and  therefore  if  it  was  all  the  same  to  me  I  must 
J.R.  D 


5<d  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

go  to  prison.  This  was  anything  but  agreeable,  and 
contrary  to  rule.  As  an  officer  I  was  entitled  to  my 
parole  j  and  so  I  wrote  to  the  commanding  officer,  who 
sent  for  me,  and  then  he  told  me  I  had  my  choice,  to  give 
up  the  old  lady,  whose  friends  were  powerful,  and  would 
not  permit  her  to  make  a  fool  of  herself  (a  personal 
remark,  by-the-bye,  which  it  was  unhandsome  to  make  to 
a  gentleman  in  my  circumstances),  or  to  be  refused  parole, 
and  remain  in  prison,  and  that  he  would  give  me  an  hour 
to  decide ;  then  he  made  me  a  very  low  bow  and  left  me. 
I  was  twisting  the  affair  over  in  my  mind,  one  moment 
thinking  of  her  purse  and  carriage  and  doubloons,  and 
another  of  that  awful  long  tooth  of  hers,  when  one  of  her 
relatives  came  in  and  said  he  had  a  proposal  to  make, 
which  was  that  I  should  be  released  and  sent  to  Gibraltar, 
without  any  conditions,  with  a  handsome  sum  of  money 
to  pay  my  expenses,  if  I  would  promise  to  give  up  the  old 
lady  now  and  for  ever.  That  suited  my  book ;  I  took  the 
money,  took  my  leave,  and  a  small  vessel  took  me  to 
Gibraltar  j  so  after  all,  you  see,  O'Donahue,  the  thing 
did  not  turn  out  so  bad.  I  lost  only  an  old  woman  with 
a  long  tooth,  and  I  gained  my  liberty." 

"  No  ;  you  got  out  of  that  affair  with  credit." 

"  And  with  money,  which  is  quite  as  good ;  so  when  I 
returned  and  proved  myself  alive,  I  was  reinstated,  and 
had  all  my  arrears  paid  up.  What  with  Sergeant  Murphy's 
purse,  and  the  foreign  subsidy,  and  my  arrears,  I  was 
quite  flush  ;  so  I  resolved  to  be  circumspect,  and  make 
hay  while  the  sun  shone  ;  notwithstanding  which,  I  was 
as  nearly  trapped  by  a  cunning  devil  of  a  widow.  Two 
days  more,  and  I  should  have  made  a  pretty  kettle  of 
fish  of  it." 

"  What,  at  your  age,  M'Shane  ?  " 

"  Ah,  bother  !  but  she  was  a  knowing  one — a  widow 
on  a  first-floor,  good-looking,  buxom,  a  fine  armful,  and 
about  thirty — met  her  at  a  party — pointed  out  to  me  as 
without  encumbrance,  and  well  off — made  up  to  her, 
escorted   her    home  —  begged    permission    to    call,    was 


The  Poacher  51 

graciously  received — talked  of  her  departed  husband, 
thought  me  like  him — everything  so  very  comfortable — 
plenty  of  plate — good  furniture — followed  her — received 
notes  by  a  little  boy  in  sky-blue  and  silver  sugar-loaf 
buttons — sent  me  all  her  messages — one  day  in  the  week 
to  her  banker's  to  cash  a  cheque.  Would  you  believe  the 
cunning  of  the  creature  ?  She  used  to  draw  out  ^25  every 
week,  sending  me  for  the  money,  and,  as  I  found  out 
afterwards,  paid  it  in  again  in  fifties  every  fortnight,  and 
she  only  had  ^50  in  all.  Wasn't  I  regularly  humbugged  ? 
Made  proposals  —  was  accepted  —  all  settled,  and  left 
off  talking  about  her  departed.  One  day,  and  only  two 
days  before  the  wedding,  found  the  street-door  open, 
and  heard  a  noise  between  her  and  her  landlady  at 
the  top  of  the  stairs,  so  I  waited  at  the  bottom.  The 
landlady  was  insisting  upon  her  rent,  and  having  all  her 
plate  back  again — my  charming  widow  entreating  for 
a  little  delay,  as  she  was  to  be  married — landlady  came 
downstairs,  red  as  a  turkey-cock,  so  I  very  politely 
begged  her  to  walk  into  the  parlour,  and  I  put  a  few 
questions,  when  I  discovered  that  my  intended  was  a 
widow,  with  a  pension  of  jC8o  a  year,  and  had  six 
children,  sent  out  of  the  way  until  she  could  find  another 
protector,  which  I  resolved,  at  all  events,  should  not  be 
Major  M'Shane ;  so  I  walked  out  of  the  door,  and  have 
never  seen  her  since." 

"  By  the  head  of  St  Patrick,  but  that  was  an  escape  !  " 
"  Yes,  indeed,  the  she  devil  with  six  children,  and  ^80 
a-year ;  it's  a  wicked  world  this,  O'Donahue.  Well,  I 
kept  clear  of  such  cunning  articles,  and  only  looked  after 
youth  and  innocence  in  the  city.  At  last  I  discovered  the 
only  daughter  of  a  German  sugar-baker  in  the  Minories,  a 
young  thing  about  seventeen,  but  very  little  for  her  age. 
She  went  to  a  dancing-school,  and  I  contrived,  by  bribing 
the  maid,  to  carry  on  the  affair  most  successfully,  and  she 
agreed  to  run  away  with  me ;  everything  was  ready,  the 
post-chaise  was  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  she  came  with 
her  bundle  in  her  hand.     I  thrust  it  into  the  chaise,  and 


52  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

was  just  tossing  her  in  after  it,  when  she  cried  out  that  she 
had  forgot  something,  and  must  go  back  for  it ;  and  away 
she  went  slipping  through  my  fingers.  Well,  I  waited 
most  impatiently  for  her  appearance,  and  at  last  saw  her 
coming,  and  what  d'ye  think  she'd  gone  back  for  ?  By  the 
powers  for  her  doll,  which  she  held  in  her  hand  !  And  just 
as  she  came  to  the  chaise,  who  should  come  round  the 
corner  but  her  father,  who  had  walked  from  Mincing-lane. 
He  caught  my  mincing  Miss  by  the  arm,  with  her  doll  and 
her  bundle,  and  bundled  her  home,  leaving  me  and  the 
post-chaise,  looking  like  two  fools.  I  never  could  see  her 
again  or  her  confounded  doll  either." 

"  You  have  been  out  of  luck,  M'Shane." 

"  I'm  not  sure  of  that,  as  the  affair  has  ended.  Now 
comes  another  adventure,  in  which  I  turned  the  tables,  any- 
how ;  I  fell  in  with  a  very  pretty  girl,  the  daughter  of  a 
lawyer  in  Chancery-lane,  who  was  said  to  have,  and  (I  paid 
a  shilling  at  Doctors'-Commons  and  read  the  will)  it  was 
true  enough,  an  independent  fortune  from  her  grandmother. 
She  was  always  laughing — full  of  mischief  and  practical 
jokes.  She  pretended  to  be  pleased,  the  hussy,  with  my 
addresses,  and  at  last  she  consented,  as  I  thought,  to  run 
away  with  me.  I  imagined  that  I  had  clinched  the  business 
at  last,  when  one  dark  night  I  handed  her  into  a  chaise, 
wrapped  up  in  a  cloak,  and  crying.  However,  I  got  her 
in,  and  away  we  went  as  if  the  devil  was  behind  us.  I 
coaxed  her  and  soothed  her,  and  promised  to  make  her 
happy,  but  she  still  kept  her  handkerchief  up  to  her  eyes, 
and  would  not  permit  me  a  chaste  salute,  even  pushed  me 
away  when  I  would  put  my  arm  round  her  waist, — all 
which  I  ascribed  to  the  extra  shame  and  modesty  which  a 
woman  feels  when  she  is  doing  wrong.  At  last,  when 
about  fifteen  miles  from  town,  there  was  a  burst  of  laughter, 
and  '  I  think  we  have  gone  far  enough,  Major  M'Shane.' 
By  all  the  saints  in  the  calendar,  it  was  her  scamp  of  a 
brother  that  had  taken  her  place.  '  My  young  gentleman,' 
said  I,  '  I  think  you  have  not  only  gone  far  enough,  but, 
as  I  shall  prove  to  you,  perhaps  a  little  too  far,'  for  I  was 


The  Poacher  $3 

in  no  fool  of  a  passion.  So  I  set  to,  beat  him  to  a  mummy, 
broke  his  nose,  blackened  both  his  eyes,  and  knocked  half 
his  teeth  down  his  throat,  and  when  he  was  half  dead,  I 
opened  the  chaise  door  as  it  whirled  along,  and  kicked  him 
out  to  take  his  chance  of  the  wheels,  or  any  other  wheels, 
which  the  wheel  of  fortune  might  turn  up  for  him.  So  he 
went  home  and  told  his  sister  what  a  capital  joke  it  was, 
I've  no  doubt.  I'll  be  bound  the  young  gentleman  has 
never  run  away  with  an  Irishman  since  that ;  however,  I 
never  heard  any  more  about  him  or  his  lovely  sister." 

"  Now  then  for  the  wind  up,  M'Shane." 

"  Courting's  very  expensive,  especially  when  you  order 
post-chaises  for  nothing  at  all,  and  I  was  very  nearly  at  the 
end  of  my  rhino  ;  so  I  said  to  myself, — '  M'Shane,  you 
must  retrench.'  And  I  did  so;  instead  of  dining  at  the 
coffee-house,  I  determined  to  go  to  an  eating-house,  and 
walked  into  one  in  Holborn,  where  I  sat  down  to  a  plate 
of  good  beef  and  potatoes,  and  a  large  lump  of  plum-pud- 
ding, paid  is.  6d.,  and  never  was  better  pleased  in  my  life ; 
so  I  went  there  again,  and  became  a  regular  customer ;  and 
the  girls  who  waited  laughed  with  me,  and  the  lady  who 
kept  the  house  was  very  gracious.  Now,  the  lady  was 
good-looking,  but  she  was  rather  too  fat ;  there  was  an 
amiable  look  about  her  even  when  she  was  carving  beef, 
and  by  degrees  we  became  intimate,  and  I  found  her  a  very 
worthy  creature  and  as  simple-minded  as  a  child,  although 
she  could  look  sharp  after  her  customers.  It  was,  and  is 
now,  a  most  thriving  establishment — nearly  200  people 
dine  there  every  day.  I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but  I 
suppose  I  first  fell  in  love  with  her  beef  and  then  with  her 
fair  self,  and  finding  myself  well  received  at  all  times,  I 
one  day,  as  she  was  carving  a  beef-steak-pie  which  might 
have  tempted  a  king  for  its  fragrance,  put  the  question  to 
her,  as  to  how  she  would  like  to  marry  again.  She  blushed, 
and  fixed  her  eyes  down  upon  the  hole  she  had  made  in 
the  pie,  and  then  I  observed,  that  if  there  was  a  hole  in  my 
side  as  big  as  there  was  in  the  pie  before  her — she  would 
see  her  image  in  my  heart.     This   pretty  simile   did  the 


54  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

business  for  me,  and  in  a  month  we  were  married ;  and  I 
never  shall  want  a  dinner  as  long  as  I  live,  either  for  my- 
self or  friend.  I  will  put  you  on  the  free  list,  O'Donahue, 
if  you  can  condescend  to  a  cook's  shop  ;  and  I  can  assure 
you,  that  I  think  I  have  done  a  very  wise  thing,  for  I  don't 
want  to  present  any  wife  at  Court,  and  I  have  a  very 
comfortable  home." 

"  You  have  done  a  wise  thing,  in  my  opinion,  M'Shane 
— you  have  a  wife  who  makes  money,  instead  of  one  who 
spends  it." 

"And,  moreover,  I  have  found  my  bargain  better  than 
I  anticipated,  which  is  seldom  the  case  in  this  world  of 
treachery  and  deceit.  She  has  plenty  of  money,  and  is 
putting  by  more  every  year." 

"  Which  you  have  the  control  of  at  your  disposition,  do 
you  mean  to  say  ? " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  may  say  that  now — but,  O'Donahue,  that 
is  owing  to  my  circumspection  and  'delicacy.  At  first 
starting  I  determined  that  she  should  not  think  that  it  was 
only  her  money  that  I  wanted  ;  so,  after  we  were  married, 
I  continued  to  find  myself,  which,  paying  nothing  for 
board  and  lodging,  and  washing,  I  could  easily  do  upon 
my  half-pay ;  and  I  have  done  so  ever  since,  until  just 
now. 

"  I  had  not  been  married  a  week  before  I  saw  that  she 
expected  I  would  make  inquiries  into  the  state  of  her 
finances,  but  I  would  not ;  at  last,  finding  that  I  would 
not  enter  into  the  business,  she  did,  and  told  me  that  she 
had  .£17,000  Consols  laid  by,  and  that  the  business  was 
worth  j£iooo  per  annum  (you  may  fish  at  Cheltenham  a 
long  while,  O'Donahue,  before  you  get  such  a  haul  as 
that).  So  I  told  her  I  was  very  glad  she  was  well  ofF, 
and  then  I  pretended  to  go  fast  asleep,  as  I  never  interfered 
with  her,  and  never  asked  for  money ;  at  last  she  didn't 
like  it,  and  offered  it  to  me,  but  I  told  her  I  had  enough 
and  did  not  want  it ;  since  which  she  has  been  quite 
annoyed  at  my  not  spending  money ;  and  when  I  told  her 
this    morning    that    there  was  a    brother  officer  of  mine 


The  Poacher  55 

arrived  in  town  to  whom  I  had  owed  some  money  for  a 
long  while,  she  insisted  upon  my  taking  money  to  pay  it, 
put  a  pile  of  bank  notes  in  my  hand,  and  was  quite  morti- 
fied when  she  found  I  only  wanted  £20.  Now  you  see, 
O'Donahue,  I  have  done  this  from  principle  ;  she  earns 
the  money,  and  therefore  she  shall  have  the  control  of  it  as 
long  as  we  are  good  friends :  and  upon  my  honour  I  really 
think  I  love  her  better  than  I  ever  thought  I  could  love 
any  woman  in  the  world,  for  she  has  the  temper,  the  kind- 
ness, and  the  charity  of  an  angel,  although  not  precisely 
the  figure  ;  but  one  can't  have  everything  in  this  world ; 
and  so  now  you  have  the  whole  of  my  story — and  what  do 
you  think  of  it  ? " 

"  You  must  present  me  to  your  wife,  M'Shane." 
"  That   I  will  with  pleasure :  she's  like  her  rounds  of 
beef — it's  cut  and  come  again — but  her  heart  is  a  beauty, 
and  so  is  her  beefsteak-pie — when  you  taste  it." 


Chapter  XI 

In  which  an  interchange  and  confidence  takes  place. 

"  And  now,  O'Donahue,"  said  M'Shane,  "  if  you  are  not 
yet  tired  of  my  company,  I  should  like  to  hear  what  you 
have  been  doing  since  we  parted  :  be  quite  as  explicit, 
but  not  quite  so  long-winded  as  myself,  for  I  fear  that 
I  tired  you." 

"  I  will  be  quite  as  explicit,  my  good  fellow,  but  I  have 
no  such  marvellous  adventures  to  relate,  and  not  such  a 
fortunate  wind  up.  I  have  been  to  Bath,  to  Cheltenham, 
to  Harrowgate,  to  Brighton,  and  everywhere  else  where 
people  meet,  and  people  are  met  with,  who  would  not 
meet  or  be  met  with  elsewhere.  I  have  seen  many  nice 
girls,  but  the  nice  girls  were  like  myself,  almost  penniless : 
and  I  have  seen  many  ill-favoured,  who  had  money ;  the 
first  I  could  only  afford  to  look  at,  the  latter  I  have  had 


56  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

some  dealings  with.  I  have  been  refused  by  one  or  two, 
and  I  might  have  married  seven  or  eight,  but  somehow  or 
other  when  it  came  near  the  point,  the  vision  of  a  certain 
angel  now  in  Heaven  has  risen  before  me,  and  I  have  not 
had  the  heart  or  the  heartlessness  to  proceed.  Indeed,  I 
may  safely  say,  that  I  have  seen  but  one  person  since  we 
parted,  who  ever  made  the  least  impression  on  me,  or 
whom  I  could  fancy  in  any  degree  to  replace  her  whom 
I  have  lost,  and  she,  I  fear,  is  lost  also ;  so  we  may  as 
well  say  no  more  about  it.  I  have  determined  to  marry 
for  money,  as  you  well  know,  but  it  appears  to  me  as  if 
there  was  something  which  invariably  prevents  the  step 
being  taken ;  and,  upon  my  honour,  fortune  seems  so 
inclined  to  balk  me  in  my  wishes,  that  I  begin  to  snap 
my  fingers  at  her,  and  am  becoming  quite  indifferent.  I 
suffer  now  under  the  evil  of  poverty,  but  it  is  impossible 
to  say  what  other  evils  may  be  in  store,  if  I  were  to 
change  my  condition,  as  the  ladies  say.  Come  what  will, 
in  one  thing  I  am  determined,  that  if  I  marry  a  girl  for 
money,  I  will  treat  her  well,  and  not  let  her  find  it  out ; 
and  as  that  may  add  to  the  difficulty  of  a  man's  position 
when  he  is  not  in  love  with  his  wife,  why,  all  I  can 
say  is,  Captain  O'Donahue  don't  go  cheap  —  that's 
decided." 

"  You're  right,  my  jewel,  there's  not  such  a  broth  of 
a  boy  to  be  picked  up  every  day  in  the  week.  Widows 
might  bid  for  you,  for,  without  flattery,  I  think  you  a 
moral  of  a  man,  and  an  honour  to  old  Ireland.  But, 
O'Donahue,  begging  your  pardon,  if  it's  not  a  secret,  who 
may  have  been  this  lady  who  appears  to  have  bothered 
your  brains  not  a  little,  since  she  could  make  you  forget 
somebody  else  ? " 

"I  met  her  at  the  Lakes  of  Cumberland,  and  being 
acquainted  with  some  of  the  party,  was  invited  to  join 
them ;  I  was  ten  days  in  her  company  at  Windermere, 
Ambleside,  Derwentwater,  and  other  places.  She  was  a 
foreigner,  and  titled." 

"  Murder  and  Irish  !  you  don't  say  so  ? " 


The  Poacher  57 

"  Yes,  and  moreover,  as  I  was  informed  by  those  who 
were  with  her,  has  large  property  in  Poland.  She  was, 
in  fact,  everything  that  I  could  desire — handsome,  witty, 
speaking  English  and  several  other  languages,  and  about 
two  or  three  and  twenty  years  old." 

"  And  her  name,  if  it's  no  offence  to  ask  it  ?  " 

"  Princess  Czartorinski." 

"  And  a  princess  in  the  bargain  ?  And  did  you  really 
pretend  to  make  love  to  a  princess  ?  " 

"  Am  not  I  an  Irishman,  M'Shane  ?  and  is  a  princess 
anything  but  a  woman,  after  all  ?  By  the  powers  !  I'd 
make  love  to,  and  run  away  with  the  pope  himself,  if  he 
were  made  of  the  same  materials  as  Pope  Joan  is  said  to 
have  been." 

"  Then,  upon  my  faith,  O'Donahue,  I  believe  you — so 
now  go  on." 

"  I  not  only  made  love  to  her,  but  in  making  love  to 
her,  I  got  most  terribly  singed  myself,  and  I  felt  before  I 
quitted  her,  that  if  I  had  ten  thousand  a-year,  and  she  was 
as  poor  as  my  dear  Judith  was,  that  she  should  have 
taken  her  place — that's  the  truth.  I  thought  that  I  never 
could  love  again,  and  that  my  heart  was  as  flinty  as  a 
pawnbroker's  j  but  I  found  out  my  mistake  when  it  was 
too  late." 

"  And  did  she  return  you  the  compliment  ? " 

"  That  I  was  not  indifferent  to  her,  I  may  without 
vanity  believe.  I  had  a  five  minutes  alone  with  her  just 
before  we  parted,  and  I  took  that  opportunity  of  saying 
how  much  pain  it  was  to  part  with  her,  and  for  once  I 
told  the  truth,  for  I  was  almost  choking  when  I  said  it. 
I'm  convinced  that  there  was  sincerity  in  my  face,  and 
that  she  saw  that  it  was  there  ;  so  she  replied,  '  if  what 
you  say  is  true,  we  shall  meet  at  St  Petersburgh  next 
winter  ;  good-bye,  I  shall  expect  you.' " 

"  Well,  that  was  as  much  as  to  say,  Come  at  all  events." 

"  It  was ;  I  stammered  out  my  determination  so  to  do, 
if  possible ;  but  I  felt  at  the  time,  that  my  finances 
rendered  it  impossible — so  there  was  an  end  of  that  affair. 


58  Joseph  Rushbrook;   or, 

By  my  hopes  of  salvation,  I'd  not  only  go  to  Petersburgh, 
but  round  the  whole  world,  and  to  the  north  pole  after- 
wards, if  I  had  the  means  only  to  see  her  once  more." 

"  You're  in  a  bad  way,  O'Donahue  ;  your  heart's  gone 
and  your  money  too.  Upon  my  soul  I  pity  you  ;  but  it's 
always  the  case  in  this  world.  When  I  was  a  boy,  the 
best  and  ripest  fruit  was  always  on  the  top  of  the  wall  and 
out  of  my  reach.  Shall  I  call  to-morrow,  and  then,  if  you 
please,  I'll  introduce  you  to  Mrs  M'Shane  ?  " 

"  I  will  be  happy  to  see  you  and  your  good  wife, 
M'Shane ;  health  and  happiness  to  you.  Stop,  while  I 
ring  for  my  little  factotum  to  let  you  out." 

"  By-the-bye,  a  sharp  boy  that,  O'Donahue,  with  an  eye 
as  bright  as  a  hawk.     Where  did  you  pick  him  up  ? " 

"  In  St  James's  Park." 

"  Well  that's  an  odd  place  to  hire  a  servant  in." 

"  Do  you  recollect  Rushbrook  in  my  Company  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  do — your  best  soldier,  and  a  famous 
caterer  he  was  at  all  times." 

"It  is  his  son.'* 

"  And  now  I  think  of  it,  he's  very  like  him,  only  some- 
what better  looking. ' 

O'Donahue  then  acquainted  M'Shane  with  the  circum- 
stances attending  his  meeting  with  Joey,  and  they  separated. 

The  next  day,  about  the  same  time,  M'Shane  came  to 
see  his  friend,  and  found  O'Donahue  dressed,  and  ready  to 
go  out  with  him. 

"  Now,  O'Donahue,  you  mus'n't  be  in  such  a  hurry  to 
see  Mrs  M'Shane,  for  I  have  something  to  tell  you  which 
will  make  her  look  more  pretty  in  your  eyes  than  she 
otherwise  might  have  done  upon  first  introduction.  Take 
your  chair  again,  and  don't  be  putting  on  your  gloves  yet, 
while  you  listen  to  a  little  conversation  which  took  place 
between  us  last  night,  just  before  we  dropt  into  the  arms 
of  Murfy.  I'll  pass  over  all  the  questions  she  asked  about 
you,  and  all  the  compliments  I  paid  you  behind  your  back ; 
because,  if  I  didn't,  it  would  make  you  blush,  Irishman  as 
you  are,  but  this  she  did  say, — that  it  was  great  kindness 


The  Poacher  59 

on  your  part  to  lend  me  that  money,  and  that  she  loved 
you  for  it ;  upon  which  I  replied,  I  was  sorry  you  was  not 
asy  in  your  mind,  and  so  very  unhappy  :  upon  which  she, 
in  course,  like  every  woman,  asked  me  why  j  and  then  I 
told  her  merely  that  it  was  a  love  affair,  and  a  long  story, 
as  if  I  wished  to  go  to  sleep.  This  made  her  more  curious, 
so,  to  oblige  her,  I  stayed  awake,  and  told  her  just  what 
you  told  me,  and  how  the  winter  was  coming  on  and  you 
not  able  to  keep  your  appointment.  And  what  d'ye  think 
the  good  soul  said  ?  '  Now,'  says  she,  '  M'Shane,  if  you 
love  me,  and  have  any  gratitude  to  your  friend  for  his 
former  kindness,  you  will  to-morrow  take  him  money 
enough,  and  more  than  enough,  to  do  as  he  wishes,  and  if 
he  gains  his  wife  he  can  repay  you  ;  if  not,  the  money  is 
not  an  object.'  '  That's  very  kind  of  you,  dearest,'  said  I ; 
'  but  then  will  you  consent  to  another  thing  ?  for  this  may 
prove  a  difficult  affair,  and  he  may  want  me  with  him, 
and  would  you  have  any  objection  to  that,  dearest  ? '  for 
you  see,  O'Donahue,  I  took  it  into  my  head  that  I  might 
be  of  the  greatest  use  to  you  ;  and,  moreover,  I  should 
like  the  trip,  just  by  way  of  a  little  change.  '  Couldn't 
he  do  without  you  ? '  replied  she,  gravely.  '  I'm  afraid 
not ;  and  although  I  thought  I  was  in  barracks  for  life, 
and  never  to  leave  you  again,  yet  still  for  his  sake,  poor 
fellow,  who  has  been  such  a  generous  fellow  to  me — ' 
'  An'  how  long  would  you  be  away  ? '  said  she.  *  "Why  it 
might  be  two  months  at  the  most,'  replied  I  j  '  but  who 
can  tell  it  to  a  day  ? '  '  Well,'  said  she,  '  I  don't  like  that 
part  of  the  concern  at  all ;  but  still  if  it  is  necessary,  as 
you  say,  things  shouldn't  be  done  by  halves,'  and  then  she 
sighed,  poor  soul.  '  Then  I  won't  go,'  says  I.  '  Yes,' 
says  she,  after  a  pause ;  '  I  think  it's  your  duty,  and  there- 
fore you  must.'  '  I'll  do  just  what  you  wish,  my  soul,' 
replied  I,  '  but  let's  talk  more  about  it  to-morrow.'  This 
morning  she  brought  up  the  subject,  and  said  that  she  had 
made  up  her  mind,  and  that  it  should  be  as  we  had  said 
last  night ;  and  she  went  to  the  drawer  and  took  out  three 
hundred  pounds  in  gold  and  notes,  and  said  that  if  it  was 


60  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

not  enough,  we  had  only  to  write  for  more.  Now  ain't 
she  a  jewel,  O'Donahue  ?  and  here's  the  money." 

"  M'Shane,  she  is  a  jewel,  not  because  she  has  given 
me  money,  but  because  her  heart's  in  the  right  place,  and 
always  will  be.  But  I  really  do  not  like  taking  you  away 
with  me." 

"Perhaps  you  don't  think  I'd  be  of  any  use  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  do  not  doubt  but  that  you  will  be,  although 
at  present  I  do  not  know  how." 

"  But  I  do,  for  I've  thought  upon  it,  and  I  shall  take 
it  very  unkind  if  you  don't  let  me  go  with  you.  I  want 
a  little  divarsion ;  for  you  see,  O'Donahue,  one  must  settle 
down  to  domestic  happiness  by  degrees." 

"Be  it  so,  then;  all  I  fear  is,  I  shall  occasion  pain  to 
your  excellent  wife." 

"  She  has  plenty  to  do,  and  that  drives  care  away  j 
besides,  only  consider  the  pleasure  you'll  occasion  to  her 
when  I  come  back." 

"I  forgot  that.  Now,  if  you  please,  I'll  call  and 
pay  my  respects,  and  also  return  my  grateful  thanks." 

"  Then,  come  along." 

Captain  O'Donahue  found  Mrs  M'Shane  very  busily 
employed  supplying  her  customers.  She  was,  as  M'Shane 
had  said,  a  very  good-looking  woman,  although  somewhat 
corpulent ;  and  there  was  an  amiability,  frankness,  and 
kindness  of  disposition  so  expressed  in  her  countenance, 
that  it  was  impossible  not  to  feel  interested  with  her. 
They  dined  together.  O'Donahue  completely  established 
himself  in  her  good  graces,  and  it  was  agreed  that  on 
that  day  week  the  gentlemen  should  embark  for  Hamburgh, 
and  proceed  on  to  Petersburgh,  Joey  to  go  with  them  as 
their  little  valet. 


The  Poacher  61 

Chapter  XII 

An  expedition,  as  of  yore,  across  the  waters  for  a  wife. 

The  first  step  taken  by  O'Donahue  was  to  obtain  a 
passport  for  himself  and  suite ;  and  here  there  was  a 
controversy,  M'Shane  having  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  would  sink  the  officer,  and  travel  as  O'Donahue's 
servant,  in  which  capacity  he  declared  that  he  would 
not  only  be  more  useful,  but  also  swell  his  friend's 
dignity.  After  a  long  combat  on  the  part  of  O'Donahue, 
this  was  consented  to,  and  the  passport  was  filled  up 
accordingly. 

"But,  by  St  Patrick!  I  ought  to  get  some  letters  of 
introduction,"  said  O'Donahue ;  "  and  how  is  that  to  be 
managed — at  all  events  to  the  English  Ambassador  ?  Let 
me  see — I'll  go  to  the  Horse  Guards." 

O'Donahue  went  accordingly,  and,  as  was  always  the 
case  there,  was  admitted  immediately  to  an  audience  to 
the  Commander  of  the  Forces.  O'Donahue  put  his  case 
forward,  stating  that  he  was  about  to  proceed  on  a  secret 
mission  to  Russia,  and  requested  his  Royal  Highness  to 
give  him  a  few  letters  of  introduction.  His  Royal  High- 
ness very  properly  observed,  that  if  sent  on  a  secret  mission, 
he  would,  of  course,  obtain  all  the  necessary  introductions 
from  the  proper  quarters,  and  then  inquired  of  O'Donahue 
what  his  rank  was,  where  he  .had  served,  etc.  To  the 
latter  questions  O'Donahue  gave  a  very  satisfactory  reply, 
and  convinced  the  Duke  that  he  was  an  officer  of  merit. 
Then  came  the  question  as  to  his  secret  mission,  which 
his  Royal  Highness  had  never  heard  of.  "  May  it  please 
your  Royal  Highness,  there's  a  little  mistake  about  this 
same  secret  mission ;  it's  not  on  account  of  government 
that  I'm  going,  but  on  my  own  secret  service ; "  and 
O'Donahue,  finding  himself  fairly  in  for  it,  confessed 
that  he  was  after  a  lady  of  high  rank,  and  that  if  he  did 
not  obtain  letters  of  introduction,  he  should  not  probably 


62  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

find  the  means  of  entering  the  society  in  which  she  was 
to  be  found,  and  that  as  an  officer  who  had  served  faithfully, 
he  trusted  that  he  should  not  be  refused. 

His  Royal  Highness  laughed  at  his  disclosure,  and,  as 
there  was  no  objection  to  giving  O'Donahue  a  letter  or 
two,  with  his  usual  good-nature  he  ordered  them  to  be 
written,  and  having  given  them  to  him,  wished  him  every 
success.  O'Donahue  bowed  to  the  ground,  and  quitted 
the  Horse  Guards,  delighted  with  the  success  of  his 
impudent  attempt. 

Being  thus  provided,  the  party  set  off  in  a  vessel  bound 
to  Hamburgh,  where  they  arrived  without  any  accident, 
although  very  sea-sick ;  from  Hamburgh  they  proceeded 
to  Lubeck,  and  re-embarked  at  Travemiinde  in  a  brig 
which  was  bound  for  Riga  ;  the  wind  was  fair,  and  their 
passage  was  short.  On  their  arrival  they  put  up  at  an  hotel, 
and  finding  themselves  in  a  country  where  English  was  not 
understood,  O'Donahue  proceeded  to  the  house  of  the 
English  Consul,  informing  him  that  he  was  going  on  a 
secret  mission  to  Petersburgh,  and  showing,  as  evidences 
of  his  respectability  and  the  truth  of  his  assertions,  the 
letters  given  him  by  his  Royal  Highness.  These  were 
quite  sufficient  for  the  Consul,  who  immediately  offered 
his  services.  Not  being  able  to  procure  at  Riga  a  courier 
who  could  speak  French  or  English,  the  Consul  took  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  to  assist  them  in  their  long  journey  to 
Petersburgh.  He  made  out  a  list  of  the  posts,  the  number 
of  versts,  and  the  money  that  was  to  be  paid ;  he  changed 
some  of  O'Donahue's  gold  into  Russian  paper  money,  and 
gave  all  the  necessary  instructions.  The  great  difficulty 
was  to  find  any  carriage  to  carry  them  to  the  capital,  but 
at  last  they  found  an  old  cabriolet  on  four  wheels  which 
might  answer,  and,  bidding  adieu  to  the  Consul,  they 
obtained  horses  and  set  off. 

"  Now,  M'Shane,  you  must  take  care  of  the  money,  and 
pay  the  driver,"  said  O'Donahue,  pulling  out  several  pieces 
of  thick  paper,  some  coloured  red,  some  blue,  and  others 
of  a  dirty  white. 


The  Poacher  63 

"Is  this  money  ?"  said  M'Shane,  with  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  that's  roubles." 

"  Roubles,  are  they  ?  I  wonder  what  they'd  call  them 
in  Ireland  ;  they  look  like  soup  tickets." 

"  Never  mind.  And  now,  M'Shane,  there  are  two  words 
which  the  Consul  has  told  me  to  make  use  of  5  one  is 
Scoro,  and  when  you  say  that,  it  means  '  Go  fast?  and 
you  hold  up  a  small  bit  of  money  at  the  same  time." 

"  Scoro!  well  that's  a  word  I  sha'n't  forget." 

"  But  then  there's  another,  which  is  Scorae." 

"  And  what  may  be  the  English  of  that  ?  " 

"Why,  that  means  '  Go  faster ;'  and  with  that  you  hold 
up  a  larger  piece  of  money." 

"  Why,  then,  it's  no  use  remembering  Scoro  at  all,  for 
Scorae  will  do  much  better  j  so  we  need  not  burthen  our- 
selves with  the  first  at  all.  Suppose  we  try  the  effect 
of  that  last  word  upon  our  bear-skin  friend  who  is 
driving  ?  " 

M'Shane  held  up  a  rouble,  and  called  out  to  the 
driver — "Scorae!"  The  fellow  turned  his  head,  smiled, 
and  lashed  his  horses  until  they  were  at  the  full  speed, 
and  then  looked  back  at  them  for  approval. 

"  By  the  powers,  that's  no  fool  of  a  word  !  it  will  take 
us  all  the  way  to  St  Petersburgh  as  fast  as  we  wish." 

"We  do  not  sleep  on  the  road,  but  travel  night  and 
day,"  said  O'Donahue,  "  for  there  is  no  place  worth  sleep- 
ing at." 

"  And  the  'ating,  O'Donahue  ?" 

"  We  must  get  that  by  signs,  for  we  have  no  other 
means." 

On  that  point  they  soon  found  they  had  no  diffi- 
culty, and  thus  they  proceeded,  without  speaking  a  word 
of  the  language,  day  and  night,  until  they  arrived  at  the 
capital. 

At  the  entrance  their  passports  were  demanded,  and  the 
officer  at  the  guard-house  came  out  and  told  them  that  a 
Cossack  would  accompany  them.  A  Cossack,  with  a  spear 
as  long  as  a  fir-tree,  and  a  beard  not  quite  so  long,  then 


64  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  or, 

took  them  in  charge,  and  trotted  before  the  carriage,  the 
driver  following  him  at  a  slow  pace. 

"  A'nt  we  prisoners  ?  "  inquired  M'Shane. 

"  I  don't  know,  but  it  looks  very  like  it,"  replied 
O'Donahue. 

This,  however,  was  not  the  case.  The  carriage  drove  to 
a  splendid  street  called  the  NefFsky  Perspective,  and  as 
soon  as  it  stopped  at  the  entrance  of  an  hotel,  the  Cossack, 
after  speaking  to  the  landlord  who  came  out,  took  his 
departure. 

A  journey  of  four  hundred  miles,  day  and  night,  is  no 
joke :  our  travellers  fell  fast  asleep  in  their  spacious  apart- 
ment, and  it  was  not  till  the  next  day  that  they  found 
themselves  clean  and  comfortable,  Joey,  being  dressed  in  a 
rich  livery,  as  a  sort  of  page,  and  M'Shane  doing  duty  as 
valet  when  others  were  present,  and  when  sitting  alone 
with  O'Donahue,  taking  his  fair  share  of  the  bottle. 

Two  days  after  their  arrival  the  landlord  procured  for 
O'Donahue  a  courier  who  could  speak  both  English  and 
French  as  well  as  Russian,  and  almost  every  other  language. 
It  was  resolved  by  O'Donahue  and  M'Shane  in  council  to 
dress  him  up  in  a  splendid  uniform,  and  a  carriage  having 
been  hired  for  the  month,  O'Donahue  felt  that  he  was 
in  a  position  to  present  his  credentials  to  the  English 
Ambassador  and  the  other  parties  for  whom  he  had 
received  letters  of  introduction. 


Chapter  XIII 

In  which  there  is  some  information  relative  to  the  city  of  St  Petersburgh. 

For  300  roubles  a  month,  O'Donahue  had  procured  a 
drosky,  very  handsomely  fitted  up ;  the  shaft-horse  was  a 
splendid  trotter,  and  the  other,  a  beautiful-shaped  animal, 
capered  about,  curving  his  neck  until  his  nose  almost 
touched  his  knee,  and  prancing,  so  as  to  be  the  admira- 
tion of  the  passers-by.     His  coachman,  whose  name  was 


The  Poacher  6$ 

Athenasis,  had  the  largest  beard  in  St  Petersburgh ;  Joey 
was  the  smallest  tiger ;  Dimitri  one  of  the  tallest  and 
handsomest  yagers.  Altogether,  Captain  O'Donahue  had 
laid  out  his  money  well ;  and  on  a  fine,  sunny  day,  he  set 
off  to  present  his  letters  to  the  English  Ambassador  and 
other  parties.  Although  the  letters  were  very  short,  it 
was  quite  sufficient  that  they  were  written  by  so  distin- 
guished and  so  universally  beloved  a  person  as  his  Royal 
Highness.  The  Ambassador,  Lord  St  H.,  immediately 
desired  O'Donahue  to  consider  his  house  open  to  him, 
requesting  the  pleasure  of  his  company  to  dinner  on  the 
following  day,  and  offered  to  present  him  to  the  Emperor 
at  the  first  levee.  O'Donahue  took  his  leave,  delighted 
with  his  success,  and  then  drove  to  the  hotel  of  the  Princess 
Woronzoff,  Count  Nesselrode,  and  Prince  Gallitzin,  where 
he  found  himself  equally  well  received.  After  his  visits 
were  all  paid,  O'Donahue  sported  his  handsome  equipage 
on  the  English  and  Russian  quays,  and  up  and  down  the 
Neffsky  Perspective,  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  then  returned 
to  the  hotel. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  O'Donahue,  after  he  had  narrated 
to  M'Shane  all  that  had  taken  place,  "  that  I  permitted  you 
to  put  yourself  down  on  the  passport  as  valet  in  the  foolish 
way  you  have.  You  would  have  enjoyed  yourself  as  much 
as  I  probably  shall,  and  have  been  in  your  proper  position 
in  society." 

"Then  I'm  not  sorry  at  all,  O'Donahue,  and  I'll  tell 
you  why.  I  should  have  enjoyed  myself,  I  do  not  doubt 
— but  I  should  have  enjoyed  myself  too  much ;  and,  after 
dining  with  Ambassadors,  and  Princes,  and  Counts,  and  all 
that  thing — should  I  ever  have  gone  back  comfortable  and 
contented  to  Mrs  M'Shane  and  the  cook's-shop  ?  No, 
no — I'm  not  exactly  reconciled,  as  it  is ;  and  if  I  were 
to  be  drinking  champagne  and  'ating  French  kickshaws 
with  the  Russian  nobility  for  three  or  four  months,  dancing 
perhaps  with  Princesses,  and  whispering  in  the  ears  of 
Duchesses,  wouldn't  my  nose  turn  up  with  contempt  at  the 
beef-steak-pie,  and  poor  Mrs  M'Shane,  with  all  her  kind 

J.R.  E 


66  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

smiles,  look  twice  as  corpulent  as  ever  ?  No,  no,  Fm 
better  here,  and  I'm  a  wise  man,  although  I  say  it  myself." 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  are,  M'Shane ;  but  still  I  do  not 
like  that  I  should  be  spending  your  money  in  this  way 
without  your  having  your  share  of  it  at  least." 

"  My  share  of  it — now,  O'Donahue,  suppose  I  had 
come  over  here  on  my  own  account,  where  should  I 
have  been  ?  I  could  not  have  mustered  up  the  amiable 
impudence  you  did,  to  persuade  the  Commander-in-chief 
to  give  me  letters  to  the  Ambassador ;  nor  could  I  have 
got  up  such  a  turn-out,  nor  have  fitted  the  turn-out  so 
well  as  you  do.  I  should  have  been  as  stupid  as  an  owl, 
just  doing  what  I  have  done  the  whole  of  the  blessed 
morning  for  want  of  your  company — looking  after  one 
of  the  floating  bridges  across  the  river,  and  spitting  into 
the  stream  just  to  add  my  mite  to  the  Baltic  Sea." 

"  I'm  sorry  you  were  not  better  amused." 

"  I  was  amused ;  for  I  was  thinking  of  the  good- 
humoured  face  of  Mrs  M'Shane,  which  was  much  better 
than  being  in  high  company  and  forgetting  her  entirely. 
Let  me  alone  for  amusing  myself  after  my  own  fashion, 
O'Donahue,  and  that's  all  I  wish.  I  suppose  you  have 
heard  nothing  in  your  travels  about  your  Powlish 
Princess  ? " 

"  Of  course  not ;  it  will  require  some  tact  to  bring  in 
her  name — I  must  do  it  as  if  by  mere  accident." 

"  Shall  I  ask  the  courier  if  she  is  an  acquaintance  of 
iiis  ?  " 

"  An  acquaintance,  M'Shane  ? " 

"  I  don't  mean  on  visiting  terms  ;  but  if  he  knows 
anything  about  the  family,  or  where  they  live  ? " 

"  No,  M'Shane,  I  think  you  had  better  not ;  we  do 
not  know  much  of  him  at  present.  I  shall  dine  at  the 
Ambassador's  to-morrow,  and  there  will  be  a  large  party." 

During  the  day,  invitations  for  evening  parties  were 
brought  in  from  the  Prince  Gallitzin  and  Princess 
WoronzofF. 

"  The  plot  thickens   fast,   as  the  saying  is,"  observed 


The  Poacher  67 

M'Shane  ;  "  you'll   be   certain  to  meet   your  fair  lady  at 
some  of  these  places." 

"  That  is  what  I  trust  to  do,"  replied  O'Donahue  ;  "  if 
not,  as  soon  as  I'm  intimate,  I  shall  make  inquiries  about 
her  ;  but  we  must  first  see  how  the  land  lies." 

O'Donahue  dined  at  the  Ambassador's,  and  went  to 
the  other  parties,  but  did  not  meet  with  the  object  of 
his  search.  Being  a  good  musician,  he  was  much  in 
request  in  so  musical  a  society  as  that  of  St  Petersburgh. 
The  Emperor  was  still  at  his  country  palace,  and 
O'Donahue  had  been  more  than  a  fortnight  at  the  capital 
without  there  being  an  opportunity  for  the  Ambassador 
to  present  him  at  court. 

Dimitri,  the  person  whom  O'Donahue  engaged  as 
courier,  was  a  very  clever,  intelligent  fellow  ;  and  as  he 
found  that  O'Donahue  had  all  the  liberality  of  an  Irishman, 
and  was  in  every  respect  a  most  indulgent  master,  he  soon 
had  his  interest  at  heart.  Perhaps  the  more  peculiar 
intimacy  between  O'Donahue  and  M'Shane,  as  a  valet, 
assisted  Dimitri  in  forming  a  good  opinion  of  the  former, 
as  the  hauteur  and  distance  generally  preserved  by  the 
English  towards  their  domestics  are  very  displeasing  to  the 
continental  servants,  who,  if  permitted  to  be  familiar,  will 
not  only  serve  you  more  faithfully,  but  be  satisfied  with 
more  moderate  wages.  Dimitri  spoke  English  and  French 
pretty  well,  German  and  Russian  of  course  perfectly.  He 
was  a  Russian  by  birth,  had  been  brought  up  at  the 
Foundling  Hospital,  at  Moscow,  and  therefore  was  not  a 
serf.  He  soon  became  intimate  with  M'Shane ;  and  as 
soon  as  the  latter  discovered  that  there  was  no  intention 
on  the  part  of  Dimitri  to  be  dishonest,  he  was  satisfied, 
and  treated  him  with  cordiality. 

**  Tell  your  master  this,"  said  Dimitri,  "  never  to  give 
his  opinion  on  political  matters  before  any  one  while  in 
Petersburgh,  or  he  will  be  reported  to  the  government, 
and  will  be  looked  upon  with  suspicion.  All  the  servants 
and  couriers  here,  indeed  every  third  person  you  meet  is 
an  agent  of  police." 


68  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

"  Then  it's  not  at  all  unlikely  that  you're  one  yourself," 
replied  M'Shane. 

"I  am  so,"  replied  Dimitri,  coolly,  "  and  all  the  better 
for  your  master.  I  shall  be  ordered  to  make  my  report  in 
a  few  days,  and  I  shall  not  fail  to  do  so." 

"  And  what  will  they  ask  you  ?  "  said  M'Shane. 

"  They  will  ask  me  first  who  and  what  your  master  is  ? 
Whether  I  have  discovered  from  you,  if  he  is  of  family 
and  importance  in  his  own  country  ?  Whether  he  has 
expressed  any  political  opinions  ?  and  whether  I  have 
discovered  the  real  business  which  brought  him  here  ? " 

"  And  what  will  you  reply  to  all  this  ? "  answered 
M'Shane. 

"Why,  I  hardly  know.  I  wish  I  knew  what  he  wished 
me  to  say,  for  he  is  a  gentleman  whom  I  am  very  fond  of, 
and  that's  the  truth  ;  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  know  a  good  deal  about  him,  that's 
certain.  As  for  his  family,  there's  not  a  better  in  Ireland 
or  England,  for  he's  royal  if  he  had  his  right." 

"What  !  "  exclaimed  Dimitri. 

"  As  sure  as  I'm  sitting  in  this  old  arm-chair,  didn't  he 
bring  letters  from  the  brother  of  the  present  king  ?  does 
that  go  for  nothing  in  this  country  of  yours,  or  do  you 
value  men  by  the  length  of  their  beards  ?  " 

"Men  are  valued  here  not  by  their  titles,  but  by  their 
rank  as  officers.  A  general  is  a  greater  man  than  a  prince," 
replied  Dimitri. 

"  With  all  my  heart,  for  then  I'm  somebody,"  replied 
M'Shane. 

"  You  ?  "  replied  the  courier. 

"  I  mean  my  master,"  returned  M'Shane,  correct- 
ing himself,  "  for  he's  an  officer,  and  a  good  one 
too." 

"  Yes,  that  may  be  ;  but  you  said  yourself,"  replied  the 
courier,  laughing.  "  My  good  friend,  a  valet  to  anyone 
in  Petersburgh  is  no  better  than  one  of  the  mujiks  who 
work  in  the  streets.  Well,  I  know  that  our  master  is  an 
officer,  and  of  high  rank  ;  as  for  his  political  opinions,  I 


The  Poacher  69 

have  never  heard  him  express  any,  except  his  admiration 
of  the  city,  and  of  course  of  the  Emperor." 

"  Most  decidedly  ;  and  of  the  Empress  also,"  replied 
M'Shane. 

"  That  is  not  at  all  necessary,"  continued  Dimitri, 
laughing.  "  In  fact,  he  has  no  business  to  admire  the 
Empress." 

"  But  he  admires  the  government  and  the  laws,"  said 
M'Shane  ;  "  and  you  may  add,  my  good  fellow — the  army 
and  the  navy — by  the  powers,  he's  all  admiration,  all 
over  ! — you  may  take  my  word  for  it." 

"Well,  I  will  do  so;  but  then  there  is  one  other 
question  to  reply  to,  which  is,  why  did  he  come  here  ? 
what  is  his  business  ?  " 

"  To  look  about  him,  to  be  sure  ;  to  spend  his  money, 
like  a  gentleman  ;  to  give  his  letters  of  introduction  and 
to  amuse  himself,"  replied  M'Shane.  "  But  this  is  dry 
talking,  so,  Dimitri,  order  a  bottle  of  champagne,  and 
then  we'll  wet  our  whistle  before  we  go  on." 

"  Champagne  !  will  your  master  stand  that  ?  "  inquired 
Dimitri. 

"  Stand  it,  to  be  sure,  and  he'd  be  very  angry  if  he 
thought  I  did  not  make  myself  comfortable.  Tell  them  to 
put  it  down  in  the  bill  for  me  ;  if  they  doubt  the  pro- 
priety, let  them  ask  my  master." 

Dimitri  went  and  ordered  the  champagne.  As  soon  as 
they  had  a  glass,  Dimitri  observed,  "  Your  master  is  a  fine 
liberal  fellow,  and  I  would  serve  him  to  the  last  day  of  my 
life  ;  but  you  see  that  the  reasons  you  give  for  your 
master  being  here  are  the  same  as  are  given  by  everybody 
else,  whether  they  come  as  spies  or  secret  emissaries,  or  to 
foment  insurrection ;  that  answer  therefore,  is  considered 
as  no  answer  at  all  by  the  police  (although  very  often  a  true 
one),  and  they  will  try  to  find  out  whether  it  is  so  or  not." 

"What  other  cause  can  a  gentleman  like  him  have  for 
coming  here  ?  He  is  not  going  to  dirty  his  hands  with 
speculation,  information,  or  any  other  botheration,"  replied 
M'Shane,  tossing  off  his  glass. 


Jo  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

"  I  don't  say  so  ;  but  his  having  letters  from  the  king's 
brother  will  be  considered  suspicious." 

"  The  devil  it  will !  now  in  our  country  that  would  only 
create  a  suspicion  that  he  was  a  real  gentleman — that's 
all." 

"  You  don't  understand  this  country,"  replied  Dimitri. 

"  No,  it  beats  my  comprehension  entirely,  and  that's 
a  fact  ;  so  fill  up  your  glass.  I  hope  it's  not  treason  ;. 
but  if  it  is,  I  can't  help  saying  it.  My  good  friend, 
Dimitri " 

"Stop,"  said  Dimitri,  rising  and  shutting  the  door,. 
"  now,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  just  this  ;  I  haven't  seen  one  good-looking 
woman  since  I've  been  in  this  good-looking  town  of  yours  ; 
now,  that's  the  truth." 

"  There's  more  truth  than  treason  in  that,"  replied  the 
courier;  "  but  still  there  are  some  beautiful  women  among 
the  higher  classes." 

"  It's  to  be  hoped  so,  for  they've  left  no  beauty  for  the 
lower,  at  all  events." 

"We  have  very  beautiful  women  in  Poland,"  said  the 
courier. 

"  Why  don't  you  bring  a  few  here  then  ? " 

"  There  are  a  great  many  Polish  ladies  in  Petersburgh  at 
this  moment." 

"  Then  go  down  and  order  another  bottle,"  said 
M'Shane,  "  and  we'll  drink  their  healths." 

The  second  bottle  was  finished,  and  M'Shane,  who  had 
been  drinking  before,  became  less  cautious. 

"  You  said,"  observed  he,  "  that  you  have  many  Polish 
ladies  in  Petersburgh;  did  you  ever  hear  of  a  Princess 
Czartowinsky ;  I  think  that's  the  name  ? " 

"  Czartorinski,  you  mean,"  replied  Dimitri ;  "  to  be  sure 
I  did  ;  I  served  in  the  family  some  years  ago,  when  the 
old  prince  was  alive.     But  where  did  you  see  her  ?  " 

"  In  England,  to  be  sure." 

"  Well,  that's  probable,  for  she  has  just  returned  from 
travelling  with  her  uncle." 


The  Poacher  71 

"  Is  she  now  in  Petersburgh,  my  good  fellow  ? " 

"  I  beiieve  she  is — but  why  do  you  wish  to  know  ?" 

"  Merely  asked — that's  all." 

"  Now,  Macshanovich  5"  for  such  was  the  familiar  way 
in  which  Dimitri  addressed  his  supposed  brother  servant ; 
"  I  suspect  this  Princess  Czartorinski  is  some  way  con- 
nected with  your  master's  coming  here.  Tell  me  the  truth. 
— is  such  the  case  ?  I'm  sure  it  is." 

"  Then,  you  know  more  than  I  do,"  replied  M'Shane, 
correcting  himself,  "  for  I'm  not  exactly  in  my  master's 
secrets  j  all  that  I  do  know  is,  that  my  master  met  her  in 
England,  and  1  thought  her  very  handsome." 

"  And  so  did  he  ?  " 

"  That's  as  may  be,  between  ourselves  ;  I've  an  idea  he 
was  a  little  smitten  in  that  quarter  ;  but  that's  only  my 
own  opinion,  nothing  more." 

"  Has  he  ever  spoken  about  her  since  you  were  here  ?  " 
said  Dimitri. 

"  Just  once,  as  I  handed  his  waistcoat  to  him  ;  he  said 
— '  I  wonder  if  all  the  ladies  are  as  handsome  as  that  Polish 
princess  that  we  met  in  Cumberland  ? ' " 

"  If  I  thought  he  wished  it,  or  cared  for  her,  I  would 
make  inquiry,  and  soon  find  out  all  about  her  ;  but  other- 
wise, it's  no  use  taking  the  trouble,"  replied  the  courier. 

"  Well,  then,  will  you  give  me  your  hand,  and  promise 
to  serve  faithfully,  if  I  tell  you  all  I  know  about  the 
matter  ? " 

"  By  the  blessed  St  Nicholas,  I  do  !  "  replied  Dimitri  j 
"  you  may  trust  me." 

"  Well,  then,  it's  my  opinion  that  my  master's  over  head 
and  ears  in  love  with  her,  and  has  come  here  for  no  other 
purpose." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you  told  me  that ;  it  will  satisfy  the 
police." 

"  The  police  ;  why,  murder  and  Irish  !  you're  not  going 
to  inform  the  police,  you  villain  ?  " 

"  Not  with  whom  he  is  in  love,  most  certainly,  but  that 
he  has  come  here  on  that  account  j  it  will  satisfy  them,  for 


72  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

they  have  no  fear  of  a  man  that's  in  love,  and  he  will  not 
be  watched.  Depend  upon  it,  I  cannot  do  a  better  thing 
to  serve  our  master." 

"  Well,  then,  perhaps  you  are  right.  I  don't  like  this 
champagne — get  a  bottle  of  Burgundy,  Dimitri.  Don't 
look  so  hard — it's  all  right.  The  Captain  dines  out  every 
day,  and  has  ordered  me  to  drink  for  the  honour  of  the 
house." 

"  He's  a  capital  master,"  replied  Dimitri,  who  had 
begun  to  feel  the  effects  of  the  former  bottles. 

As  soon  as  the  third  bottle  was  tapped,  M'Shane  con- 
tinued— 

"Now,  Dimitri,  I've  given  my  opinion,  and  I  can  tell 
you,  if  my  master  has,  as  I  suspect,  come  here  about  this 
young  lady,  and  succeeds  in  obtaining  her,  it  will  be  a 
blessed  thing  for  you  and  I  ;  for  he's  as  generous  as  the 
day,  and  has  plenty  of  money.    Do  you  know  who  she  is  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  do  j  she  is  an  only  daughter  of  the  late 
Prince  Czartorinski,  and  now  a  sort  of  ward  under  the 
protection  of  the  Emperor.  She  inherits  all  the  estates, 
except  one  which  was  left  to  found  an  Hospital  at  Warsaw, 
and  is  a  rich  heiress.  It  is  supposed  the  Emperor  will 
bestow  her  upon  one  of  his  generals.  She  is  at  the 
palace,  and  a  maid  of  honour  to  the  Empress." 

"Whew!"  whistled  M'Shane,  "won't  there  be  a 
difficulty  ? " 

"  I  should  think  so,"  replied  the  courier  gravely. 

"  He  must  run  away  with  her,"  said  M'Shane,  after  a 
pause.     "  How  will  he  get  to  see  her  ?  " 

"  He  will  not  see  her,  so  as  to  speak  with  her,  in  the 
palace,  that  is  not  the  custom  here,  but  he  might  meet 
her  elsewhere." 

"  To  be  sure,  at  a  party  or  a  ball,"  said  M'Shane. 

"  No,  that  would  not  do,  ladies  and  gentlemen  keep 
very  apart  here  in  general  company.  He  might  say  a 
word  or  two  when  dancing,  but  that  is  all." 

"  But  how  is  he  to  meet  her  then  in  this  cursed  place 
of  yours,  if  men  and  women  keep  at  arm's  length  ? " 


The  Poacher  73 

"  That  must  depend  upon  her.  Tell  me,  does  she  love 
him  ? " 

"Well,  now,  that's  a  home  question;  she  never  told 
him  she  did,  and  she  never  told  me,  that's  certain  ;  but 
still  I've  an  idea  that  she  does." 

"  Then  all  I  can  say,  Macshanovish,  is,  that  your  master 
had  better  be  very  careful  what  he  is  about.  Of  course 
he  knows  not  that  you  have  told  me  anything ;  but  as 
soon  as  he  thinks  proper  to  trust  me,  I  then  will  do  my 
utmost  in  his  service." 

"  You  speak  like  a  very  rational,  sensible,  intelligent 
courier,"  replied  M'Shane,  "  and  so  now  let  us  finish  the 
bottle.  Here's  good  luck  to  Captain  O'Donahue,  alive 
or  dead ;  and  now — please  the  fleas — I'll  be  asleep  in  less 
than  ten  minutes." 


Chapter  XIV 

Going  to  court,  and  courting. 

When  M'Shane  awoke  the  next  morning  he  tried  to  recall 
what  had  passed  between  him  and  Dimitri,  and  did  not 
feel  quite  convinced  that  he  had  not  trusted  him  too  much. 
"I  think,"  said  he,  "it  was  all  upon  an  if  Yes  sure; 
if  O'Donahue  was  in  love,  and  if  she  was.  Yes,  I'm  sure 
that  it  was  all  upon  ifs.  However,  I  must  go  and  tell 
O'Donahue  what  has  taken  place." 

M'Shane  did  so  ;  and  O'Donahue,  after  a  little  thought, 
replied,  "  Well,  I  don't  know  ;  perhaps  it's  all  for  the 
best ;  for  you  see  I  must  have  trusted  somebody,  and  the 
difficulty  would  have  been  to  know  whom  to  trust,  for 
everybody  belongs  to  the  police  here,  I  believe ;  I  think, 
myself,  the  fellow  is  honest ;  at  all  events,  I  can  make  it 
worth  his  while  to  be  so." 

"  He  would  not  have  told  me  he  belonged  to  the  police 
if  he  wished  to  trap  us,"  replied  M'Shane. 

"That's  very  true,  and  on  the  whole  I  think  we  could 


74  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

not  do  better.  But  we  are  going  on  too  fast ;  who  knows 
whether  she  meant  anything  by  what  she  said  to  me  when 
we  parted  ;  or,  if  she  did  then,  whether  she  may  not  have 
altered  her  mind  since  ?  " 

"  Such  things  have  been — that's  a  fact,  O'Donahue." 

"  And  will  be,  as  long  as  the  world  lasts.  However, 
to-morrow  I  am  to  be  presented — perhaps  I  may  see  her. 
I'm  glad  that  I  know  that  I  may  chance  to  meet  her,  as 
I  shall  now  be  on  my  guard." 

"  And  what  shall  I  say  to  Dimitri  ? " 

"Say  that  you  mentioned  her  name,  and  where  she 
was,  and  that  I  had  only  replied,  that  I  should  like  to  see 
her  again." 

"Exactly;  that  will  leave  it  an  open  question,  as  the 
saying  is,"  replied  M'Shane. 

The  next  day  O'Donahue,  in  his  uniform,  drove  to  the 
Ambassador's  hotel  to  accompany  him  to  the  AnnishkofT 
palace,  where  he  was  to  be  presented  to  the  Emperor. 
O'Donahue  was  most  graciously  received, — the  Emperor 
walking  up  to  him,  as  he  stood  in  the  circle,  and  inquiring 
after  the  health  of  his  Royal  Highness  the  Commander- 
in-chief,  what  service  he  had  been  employed  upon,  etc. 
He  then  told  O'Donahue  that  the  Empress  would  be  most 
glad  to  make  his  acquaintance,  and  hoped  that  he  would 
make  a  long  stay  at  St  Petersburgh. 

It  was  with  a  quickened  pulse  that  O'Donahue  followed 
the  Ambassador  into  the  Empress's  apartments.  He  had 
not  waited  there  more  than  five  minutes  in  conversation 
with  the  Ambassador,  when  the  doors  opened,  and  the 
Empress,  attended  by  her  chamberlain,  and  followed  by 
her  ladies-in-waiting  and  maids  of  honour,  entered  the 
room.  O'Donahue  had  made  up  his  mind  not  to  take 
his  eyes  off  the  Empress  until  the  presentation  was  over. 
As  soon  as  he  had  kissed  hands,  and  answered  the  few 
questions  which  were  graciously  put  to  him,  he  retired' 
to  make  room  for  others,  and  then,  for  the  first  time,  did 
he  venture  to  cast  his  eyes  on  the  group  of  ladies  attending 
the  Empress.     The  first  that  met  his  view  were  unknown. 


The  Poacher  75 

but,  behind  all  the  rest,  he  at  length  perceived  the  Princess 
Czartorinski,  talking  and  laughing  with  another  lady. 
After  a  short  time  she  turned  round,  and  their  eyes  met. 
The  Princess  recognised  him  with  a  start,  and  then  turned 
away  and  put  her  hand  up  to  her  breast,  as  if  the  shock 
had  taken  away  her  breath.  Once  more  she  turned  her 
face  to  O'Donahue,  and  this  time  he  was  fully  satisfied 
by  her  looks  that  he  was  welcome.  Ten  minutes  after, 
the  Ambassador  summoned  O'Donahue,  and  they  quitted 
the  palace. 

"I  have  seen  her,  M'Shane,"  said  O'Donahue;  "she 
is  more  beautiful,  and  I  am  more  in  love  than  ever.  And 
now,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  That's  just  the  difficulty,"  replied  M'Shane.  "■  Shall 
I  talk  with  Dimitri,  or  shall  I  hold  my  tongue,  or  shall 
I  think  about  it  while  you  go  to  dinner  at  the 
Ambassador's  ? " 

"  I  cannot  dine  out  to-day,  M'Shane.  I  will  write 
an  excuse." 

"Well,  now,  I  do  believe  you're  in  for  it  in  good 
earnest.  My  love  never  spoiled  my  appetite ;  on  the 
contrary,  it  was  my  appetite  that  made  me  fall  in  love." 

"  I  wish  she  had  not  been  a  Princess,"  said  O'Donahue, 
throwing  himself  on  the  sofa. 

"That's  nothing  at  all  here,"  replied  M'Shane.  "A 
Princess  is  to  be  had.  Now,  if  she  had  been  a  Genera/, 
it  would  have  been  all  up  with  you.  Military  rank  is 
everything  here,  as  Dimitri  says." 

"  She's  an  angel,"  replied  O'Donahue,  with  a  sigh. 

"  That's  rank  in  heaven,  but  goes  for  nothing  in 
Petersburgh,"  replied  M'Shane.  "  Dimitri  tells  me 
they've  civil  generals  here,  which  I  conceive  are  im- 
provements on  our  staff,  for  devil  a  civil  general  I've 
had  the  pleasure  of  serving  under." 

"What  shall  I  do?"  said  O'Donahue,  getting  up,  and 
preparing  to  write  his  note  to  the  Ambassador. 

"Eat  your  dinner,  drink  a  bottle  of  champagne,  and 
then  I'll  come  and  talk  it  over  with  you  j  that's  all  you 


y5  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  or, 

can  do  at  present.    Give  me  the  note,  and  I'll  send  Dimitri 
off  with  it  at  once,  and  order  up  your  dinner." 

M'Shane's  advice  not  being  very  bad,  it  was  followed. 
O'Donahue  had  finished  his  dinner,  and  was  sitting  by 
the  fire  with  M'Shane,  when  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door.  M'Shane  was  summoned,  and  soon  returned, 
saying,  "  There's  a  little  fellow  that  wants  to  speak 
with  you,  and  won't  give  his  message.  He's  a  queer 
little  body,  and  not  so  bad-looking  either,  with  a  bolster 
on  the  top  of  his  head,  and  himself  not  higher  than  a 
pillow ;  a  pigeon  could  sit  upon  his  shoulder  and  peck 
up  peas  out  of  his  shoes ;  he  struts  like  a  grenadier,  and, 
by  the  powers !  a  grenadier's  cap  would  serve  as  an 
extinguisher  for  him.     Shall  I  show  him  in  ? " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  O'Donahue. 

The  reader  may  not  be  aware  that  there  is  no  part  of 
the  globe  where  there  are  so  many  dwarfs  as  at  St 
Petersburgh ;  there  is  scarcely  a  hotel  belonging  to  a 
noble  family  without  one  or  two,  if  not  more ;  they  are 
very  kindly  treated,  and  are,  both  in  appearance  and 
temper,  very  superior  to  the  dwarfs  occasionally  met 
with  elsewhere.  One  of  this  diminutive  race  now 
entered  the  room,  dressed  in  a  Turkish  costume ;  he 
was  remarkably  well  made  and  handsome  in  person ;  he 
spoke  sufficient  French  to  inquire  if  he  addressed  himself 
to  Captain  O'Donahue ;  and  on  being  replied  to  in  the 
affirmative,  he  gave  him  a  small  billet,  and  then  seated 
himself  on  the  sofa  with  all  the  freedom  of  a  petted 
menial.  O'Donahue  tore  open  the  note  j  it  was  very 
short : — 

"  As  I  know  you  cannot  communicate  with  me,  I  write 
to  say  that  I  was  delighted  at  your  having  kept  your 
promise.  You  shall  hear  from  me  again  as  soon  as  I  know 
where  I  can  meet  you  ;  in  the  meantime  be  cautious.  The 
bearer  is  to  be  trusted  ;  he  belongs  to  me.  C." 

O'Donahue  pressed  the  paper  to  his  lips,  and  then  sat 


The  Poacher  yy 

down  to  reply.  We  shall  not  trouble  the  reader  with 
what  he  said,  it  is  quite  sufficient  that  the  lady  was  con- 
tent with  the  communication,  and  also  at  the  report  from 
her  little  messenger  of  the  Captain's  behaviour  when  he 
had  read  her  billet. 

Two  or  three  days  afterwards,  O'Donahue  received  a 
note  from  a  German  widow  lady,  a  Countess  Erhausen, 
particularly  requesting  he  would  call  upon  her  in  the  after- 
noon, at  three  o'clock.  As  he  had  not  as  yet  had  the 
pleasure  of  being  introduced  to  the  Countess,  although  he 
had  often  heard  her  spoken  of  in  the  first  society, 
O'Donahue  did  not  fail  in  his  appointment,  as  he  considered 
that  it  was  possible  that  the  Princess  Czartorinski  might 
be  connected  with  it ;  nor  was  he  deceived,  for  on  his 
entering  the  saloon,  he  found  the  Princess  sitting  on  the 
sofa  with  Madame  Erhausen,  a  young  and  pretty  woman, 
not  more  than  twenty-five  years  of  age.  The  Princess 
rose,  and  greeted  Captain  O'Donahue,  and  then  introduced 
the  Countess  as  her  first  cousin.  A  few  minutes  after  his 
introduction,  the  Countess  retired,  leaving  them  alone. 
O'Donahue  did  not  lose  this  opportunity  of  pouring  out 
the  real  feelings  of  his  heart. 

"  You  have  come  a  long  way  to  see  me,  Captain 
O'Donahue,  and  I  ought  to  be  grateful,"  replied  the 
Princess;  "indeed,  I  have  much  pleasure  in  renewing  our 
acquaintance." 

O'Donahue,  however,  did  not  appear  satisfied  with  this 
mere  admission :  he  became  eloquent  in  his  own  cause, 
pointed  out  the  cruelty  of  having  brought  him  over  to  see 
her  again  if  he  was  not  be  rewarded,  and  after  about  an 
hour's  pleading,  he  was  sitting  on  the  sofa  by  her  side, 
with  her  fair  hand  in  his,  and  his  arm  round  her  slender 
waist.  They  parted,  but  through  the  instrumentality  of 
the  little  dwarf  they  often  met  again  at  the  same  rendez- 
vous. Occasionally  they  met  in  society,  but  before  others 
they  were  obliged  to  appear  constrained  and  formal; 
there  was  little  pleasure  in  such  meetings,  and  when 
O'Donahue  could  not  see  the  Princess,  his  chief  pleasure 


yS  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

was  to  call  upon  Madame  Erhausen  and  talk  about 
her. 

"  You  are  aware,  Captain  O'Donahue,"  said  the 
Countess,  one  day,  "  that  there  will  be  a  great  difficulty 
to  overcome  in  this  affair.  The  Princess  is  a  sort  of  ward 
of  the  Emperor's,  and  it  is  said  that  he  has  already,  in  his 
own  mind,  disposed  of  her  hand." 

"I  am  aware  of  that,"  replied  O'Donahue,  "and  I  know 
no  other  means  than  running  away  with  her." 

"That  would  never  do,"  replied  the  Countess;  "you 
could  not  leave  Petersburgh  without  passports  ;  nor  could 
she  leave  the  palace  for  more  than  an  hour  or  two  without 
being  missed.  You  would  soon  be  discovered,  and  then 
you  know  that  you  would  lose  her  for  ever." 

"  Then  what  can  I  do,  my  dear  Madame  ?  Shall  I 
throw  myself  upon  the  indulgence  of  the  Emperor  ?  " 

"No,  that  would  not  answer  either;  she  is  too  rich  a 
prize  to  be  permitted  to  go  into  foreign  hands.  I'll  tell 
what  you  you  must  first  do." 

"  I'm  all  attention." 

"You  must  make  love  to  me,"  replied  the  Countess. 
"Nay,  understand  me;  I  mean  that  you  must  appear  to 
make  love  to  me,  and  the  report  of  our  marriage  must  be 
spread.  The  Emperor  will  not  interfere  in  such  a  case ; 
you  must  do  so  to  avoid  suspicion.  You  have  been  here 
very  often,  and  your  equipage  has  been  constantly  seen  at 
the  door.  If  it  is  supposed  you  do  not  come  on  my  account, 
it  will  be  inquired  why  you  do  come :  and  there  is  no 
keeping  a  secret  at  Petersburgh.  After  it  is  supposed  that 
it  is  a  settled  affair  between  us,  we  then  may  consider  what 
next  ought  to  be  done.  My  regard  for  my  cousin  alone 
induces  me  to  consent  to  this ;  indeed,  it  is  the  only  way 
she  could  avoid  future  misery." 

"  But  is  the  Emperor  so  despotic  on  these  points  ?  " 

"  An  emperor  is  not  to  be  trifled  with ;  a  ward  of  the 
Emperor  is  considered  sacred — at  least,  so  far,  that  if  a 
Russian  were  to  wed  one  without  permission,  he  probably 
would    be    sent   to    Siberia.     With    an  Englishman   it    is 


The  Poacher  79 

different,  perhaps ;  and,  once  married,  you  would  be  safe, 
as  you  would  claim  the  protection  of  your  Ambassador. 
The  great  point  is,  to  let  it  be  supposed  that  you  are  about 
to  marry  some  one  else :  and  then,  suspicion  not  being 
awakened,  you  may  gain  your  wish." 

"  But  tell  me,  Madame — that  I  may  be  safe  from  the 
Emperor's  displeasure  is  true — but  would  the  Princess, 
after  he  discovered  it  ?  Could  he  not  take  her  away  from 
me,  and  send  her  to  Siberia  for  disobedience  ?  " 

"I  hope,  by  the  means  I  propose,  to  get  you  both  clear 
of  the  Emperor — at  least,  till  his  displeasure  is  softened 
down.  Me  he  cannot  hurt :  he  can  only  order  me  out  of 
his  dominions.  As  for  the  Princess,  I  should  think,  that 
if  once  married  to  you,  she  would  be  safe,  for  you  could 
claim  the  protection  of  the  Ambassador  for  her,  as  your 
wife,  as  well  as  for  yourself.  Do  you  comprehend  me 
now  ?  " 

"  I  do,  Madame ;  and  may  blessings  follow  you  for  your 
kindness.     I  shall  in  future  act  but  by  your  directions." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  wished  you  to  say  j  and  so  now, 
Captain  O'Donahue,  farewell." 


Chapter    XV 

A  run-away  and  a  hard  pursuit. 

*'  Well,  now,"  said  M'Shane,  after  he  had  been  informed 
by  O'Donahue  of  what  had  passed  between  him  and  the 
Countess,  "this  is  all  very  pretty,  and  looks  very  wellj 
but  tell  me,  are  we  to  trust  that  fellow  Dimitri  ?  Can  we 
do  without  him  ?  I  should  say  not,  when  it  comes  to  the 
finale  ;  and  is  it  not  dangerous  to  keep  him  out  of  our 
confidence,  being  such  a  sharp,  keen-witted  fellow  ?  Nay, 
more,  as  he  has  stated  his  wish  to  serve  you  in  any  way,  it 
is  only  treating  him  fairly.  He  knows  the  little  dwarf  who 
has  been  here  so  often  j  indeed  they  were  fellow-servants 


So  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

in  the  Czartorinski  family,  for  he  told  me  so.  I  would 
trust  him." 

"I  think  so  too,  but  we  must  not  tell  him  all." 

"No,  that  we  certainly  need  not,  for  he  will  find  it  out 
without  telling." 

"  Well,  M'Shane,  do  as  you  please ;  but,  on  second 
thoughts,  I  will  speak  to  the  Countess  to-morrow." 

O'Donahue  did  so,  the  Countess  called  upon  the  Princess 
at  the  palace,  and  the  next  morning  O'Donahue  received  a 
note,  stating  that  Dimitri  was  to  be  trusted.  O'Donahue 
then  sent  for  the  courier,  and  told  him  that  he  was  about 
to  put  confidence  in  him  on  a  promise  of  his  fidelity. 

"  I  understand  you,  sir,  and  all  you  intend  to  do ;  there 
is  no  occasion  to  say  anything  more  to  me,  until  you  want 
my  assistance.  I  will  not,  in  the  meantime,  neglect  your 
interest,  for  I  hope  to  remain  with  you,  and  that  is  the  only 
reward  I  ask  for  any  services  I  may  perform.  I  have  only 
one  remark  to  make  now,  which  is,  that  it  will  be  necessary, 
a  few  days  before  you  leave  Petersburgh,  to  let  me  know, 
that  I  may  advertise  it." 

"  Advertise  it !  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  you  must  advertise  your  departure,  that  you 
may  not  run  away  in  debt.  Such  is  the  custom  ;  and  with- 
out three  notices  being  put  in  the  Gazette,  the  police  will 
not  give  you  your  passport." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  mentioned  it.  Of  course  you  are 
aware  that  I  am  paying  attention  to  the  Countess  Erhausen, 
and  shall  leave  Petersburgh  with  her,  I  trust,  as  my  wife  ? " 

"  I  understand,  sir,  and  shall  take  care  that  your 
intimacy  there  shall  be  known  to  everybody." 

So  saying,  Dimitri  left  the  room. 

The  winter  now  set  in  with  unusual  severity.  The 
river  was  one  mass  of  ice,  the  floating-bridges  had  been 
removed,  the  Montagnes-Russes  became  the  amusement 
of  the  day,  and  the  sledges  were  galloping  about  in  every 
direction.  For  more  than  a  month,  O'Donahue  continued 
his  pretended  addresses  to  the  fair  cousin  of  the  Princess, 
and  during  that  time  he  did  not  once  see  the  real  object 


The  Poacher  81 

of  his  attachment ;  indeed,  the  dwarf  never  made  his 
appearance,  and  all  communication,  except  an  occasional 
note  from  her  to  the  Countess,  was,  from  prudence,  given 
up.  The  widow  was  rich,  and  had  often  been  pressed 
to  renew  her  bonds,  but  had  preferred  her  liberty. 
O'Donahue,  therefore,  was  looked  upon  as  a  fortunate 
man,  and  congratulated  upon  his  success.  Nor  did  the 
widow  deny  the  projected  union,  except  in  a  manner  so  as 
to  induce  people  to  believe  in  the  certainty  of  its  being 
arranged.  O'Donahue's  equipage  was  always  at  her  door, 
and  it  was  expected  that  the  marriage  would  immediately 
take  place,  when  O'Donahue  attended  a  levee  given  by 
the  Emperor  on  the  Feast  of  St  Nicholas.  The  Emperor, 
who  had  been  very  civil  to  O'Donahue,  as  he  walked 
past  him,  said,  "Well,  Captain  O'Donahue,  so  I  understand 
that  you  intend  to  run  away  with  one  of  our  fairest 
and  prettiest  ladies — one  of  the  greatest  ornaments  of 
my  court  ? " 

"  I  trust  that  I  have  your  Majesty's  permission  so  to  do,' 
replied  O'Donahue,  bowing  low. 

"  O,  certainly,  you  have ;  and,  moreover,  our  best 
wishes  for  your  happiness." 

"  I  humbly  thank  your  Majesty,"  replied  O'Donahue  ; 
"  still  I  trust  your  Majesty  does  not  think  that  I  wish 
to  transplant  her  to  my  own  country  altogether ;  and  that 
I  shall  be  permitted  to  reside,  for  the  major  part  of  the 
year,  in  your  Majesty's  dominions." 

"  Nothing  will  give  me  greater  pleasure,  and  it  will  be 
a  satisfaction  to  feel  that  I  shall  gain,  instead  of  losing, 
by  the  intended  marriage." 

"  By  the  powers !  but  I  will  remind  him  of  this,  some 
day  or  another,"  thought  O'Donahue.  "  Haven't  I  his 
permission  to  the  marriage,  and  to  remain  in  the  country  ? " 

Everything  was  now  ripe  for  the  execution  of  the  plot. 
The  Countess  gave  out  that  she  was  going  to  her  country- 
seat,  about  ten  miles  from  St  Petersburgh ;  and  it  was 
naturally  supposed  that  she  was  desirous  that  the  marriage 
should  be  private,  and  that  she  intended  to  retire  there 
J.R.  F 

J" 


82  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

to     have    the    ceremony    performed  —  and    O'Donahue 
advertised  his  departure  in  the  Gazette. 

The  Princess  Czartorinski  produced  a  letter  from  the 
Countess,  requesting  her,  as  a  favour,  to  obtain  leave 
from  the  Empress  to  pass  two  or  three  days  with  her  in 
the  country,  and  the  Empress,  as  the  Countess  was  first 
cousin  to  the  Princess,  did  not  withhold  her  consent  ;  on 
the  contrary,  when  the  Princess  left  the  palace,  she  put 
a  case  of  jewels  in  her  hand,  saying,  "  these  are  for  the 
bride,  with  the  good  wishes  and  protection  of  the  Empress, 
as  long  as  she  remains  in  this  country."  One  hour 
afterwards,  O'Donahue  was  rewarded  for  all  his  long 
forbearance  by  clasping  his  fair  one  in  his  arms.  A  priest 
had  been  provided,  and  was  sent  forward  to  the  country 
chateau,  and  at  ten  in  the  morning  all  the  parties  were 
ready.  The  Princess  and  her  cousin  set  off  in  the  carriage, 
followed  by  O'Donahue,  with  M'Shane  and  his  suite. 
Everything  was  en  regie ;  the  passports  had  been  made  out 
for  Germany,  to  which  country  it  was  reported  the 
Countess  would  proceed  a  few  days  after  the  marriage, 
and  the  Princess  was  to  return  to  the  palace.  As  soon  as 
they  arrived  at  the  chateau  the  ceremony  was  performed, 
and  O'Donahue  obtained  his  prize  \  and  to  guard  against 
any  mishap,  it  was  decided  that  they  should  leave  the  next 
morning,  on  their  way  to  the  frontier.  Dimitri  had  been 
of  the  greatest  use,  had  prepared  against  every  difficulty, 
and  had  fully  proved  his  fidelity.  The  parting  between 
the  Countess  and  her  cousin  was  tender.  "How  much 
do  I  owe,  dear  friend  !  "  said  the  Princess.  "  What  risk 
do  you  incur  for  me  ?  How  will  you  brave  the  anger  of 
the  Emperor  ? " 

"  I  care  little  for  his  anger ;  I  am  a  woman,  and  not  a 
subject  of  his ;  but,  before  you  go,  you  must  both  write 
a  letter — your  husband  to  the  Emperor,  reminding  him  of 
his  having  given  his  consent  to  the  marriage,  and  his  wish 
that  he  should  remain  in  his  dominions,  and  let  him  add  his 
sincere  wish,  if  permitted,  to  be  employed  in  his  Majesty's 
service.     You,  my  dear  cousin,  must  write  to  the  Empress, 


The  Poacher  83 

reminding  her  of  her  promise  of  protection,  and  soliciting 
her  good  offices  with  the  Emperor.  I  shall  play  my  own 
game  ;  but,  depend  upon  it,  it  will  all  end  in  a  laugh." 

O'Donahue  and  his  wife  both  wrote  their  letters,  and 
O'Donahue  also  wrote  one  to  the  English  Ambassador, 
informing  him  of  what  had  taken  place,  and  requesting  his 
kind  offices.  As  soon  as  they  were  finished,  the  Countess 
bade  them  farewell,  saying,  "I  shall  not  send  these  letters 
until  you  are  well  out  of  reach,  depend  upon  it  ; "  and 
with  many  thanks  for  her  kindness,  O'Donahue  and  his 
bride  bade  her  adieu,  and  set  off  on  their  long  journey. 

The  carriage  procured  for  their  journey  was  what  is 
called  a  German  batarde,  which  is  very  similar  to  an  English 
chariot  with  coach-box,  fixed  upon  a  sleigh.  Inside  were 
O'Donahue  and  his  young  bride,  M'Shane  preferring  to 
ride  outside  on  the  box  with  Joey,  that  he  might  not  be  in 
the  way,  as  a  third  person  invariably  is  with  a  newly- 
married  couple.  The  snow  was  many  feet  deep  on  the 
ground ;  but  the  air  was  dry,  and  the  sun  shone  bright. 
The  bride  was  handed  in  enveloped  in  a  rich  mantle  of 
sable  ;  O'Donahue  followed,  equally  protected  against  the 
cold;  while  M'Shane  and  Joey  fixed  themselves  on  the 
box,  so  covered  up  in  robes  of  wolf  skins,  and  wrappers 
of  bear  skins  for  their  feet,  that  you  could  see  but  the  tips 
of  their  noses.  On  the  front  of  the  sleigh,  below  the  box 
of  the  carriage,  were  seated  the  driver  and  the  courier ; 
four  fiery  young  horses  were  pawing  with  impatience ;  the 
signal  was  given,  and  off  they  went  at  the  rate  of  sixteen 
miles  an  hour. 

"Where's  the  guns,  Joey,  and  the  pistols,  and  the 
ammunition?"  inquired  M'Shane;  "we're  going  through 
a  wild  sort  of  country,  I  expect." 

"  I  have  put  them  in  myself,  and  I  can  lay  my  hands  on 
them  immediately,  sir,"  replied  Joey ;  "  the  guns  are 
behind  us,  and  your  pistols  and  the  ammunition  are  at  my 
feet ;  the  Captain's  are  in  the  carriage." 

"That's  all  right,  then;  I  like  to  know  where  to  lay 
my  hands  upon  my  tools.     Just  have  the  goodness  to  look 


84  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

at  my  nose  now  and  then,  Joey,  and  if  you  see  a  white 
spot  on  the  tip  of  it,  you'll  be  pleased  to  tell  me,  and  I'll 
do  the  same  for  you.  Mrs  M'Shane  would  be  anything 
but  pleased  if  I  came  home  with  only  half  a  handle  to  my 
face." 

The  journey  was  continued  at  the  same  rapid  pace  until 
the  close  of  the  day,  when  they  arrived  at  the  post-house ; 
there  they  stopped,  M'Shane  and  Joey,  with  the  assistance 
of  the  courier,  preparing  their  supper  from  the  stores 
which  they  brought  with  them.  After  supper  they  retired, 
O'Donahue  and  his  wife  sleeping  in  the  carriage,  which 
was  arranged  so  as  to  form  a  bed  if  required ;  while 
M'Shane  and  Joey  made  it  out  how  they  could  upon  the 
cloaks,  and  what  little  straw  they  could  procure,  on  the 
floor  of  the  post-house,  where,  as  M'Shane  said  the  next 
morning,  they  "had  more  bedfellows  than  were  agreeable, 
although  he  contrived  to  get  a  few  hours'  sleep  in  spite 
of  the  jumping  vagabonds."  When  they  rose  the  next 
morning,  they  found  that  the  snow  had  just  begun  to  fall 
fast.  As  soon  as  they  had  breakfasted  they  set  out, 
nevertheless,  and  proceeded  at  the  same  pace.  M'Shane 
telling  Joey,  who  was,  as  well  as  himself,  almost  embedded 
in  it  before  the  day  was  half  over,  that  it  was  "  better  than 
rain,  at  all  events  5 "  to  be  sure  that  was  cold  comfort,  but 
any  comfort  is  better  than  none.  O'Donahue's  request  for 
M'Shane  to  come  inside  was  disregarded;  he  was  as  tough 
as  little  Joey,  at  all  events,  and  it  would  be  a  pity  to 
interupt  the  conversation.  About  four  o'clock  they  had 
changed  their  horses  at  a  small  village,  and  were  about 
three  miles  on  their  last  stage,  for  that  day's  journey, 
when  they  passed  through  a  pine  forest. 

"There's  a  nice  place  for  an  ambuscade,  Joey,  if  there 
were  any  robbers  about  here,"  observed  M'Shane. 
"  Murder  and  Irish !  what's  those  chaps  running  among 
the  trees  so  fast,  and  keeping  pace  with  us  ?  I  say, 
Dimitri,"  continued  M'Shane,  pointing  to  them,  "  what 
are  those  ? " 

The  courier  looked  in  the  direction  pointed  out,  and  as 


The  Poacher  85 

soon  as  he  had  done  so,  spoke  to  the  driver,  who,  casting 
his  eyes  hastily  in  the  direction,  applied  the  lash  to  his 
horseSj  and  set  off  with  double  speed. 

"  Wolves,  sir,"  replied  the  courier,  who  then  pulled 
out  his  pistols  and  commenced  loading  them. 

"Wolves!"  said  M'Shane,  "and  hungry  enough,  I'll 
warrant ;  but  they  don't  hope  to  make  a  meal  of  us,  do 
they  ?  At  all  events  we  will  give  them  a  little  fight  for 
it.  Come,  Joey,  I  see  that  Dimitri  don't  like  it,  so 
we  must  shake  off  the  snow,  and  get  our  ammunition 
ready." 

This  was  soon  done ;  the  guns  were  unstrapped  from 
the  back  of  the  coach-box,  the  pistols  got  from  beneath 
their  feet,  and  all  were  soon  ready,  loaded  and  primed. 

"  It's  lucky  there's  such  a  mist  on  the  windows  of  the 
carriage,  that  the  lady  can't  see  what  we're  after,  or  she'd 
be  frightened,  perhaps,"  said  Joey. 

The  rapid  pace  at  which  the  driver  had  put  his  horses 
had  for  a  time  left  the  wolves  in  the  rear;  but  now 
they  were  seen  following  the  carriage  at  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  distant,  having  quitted  the  forest  and  taken  to 
the  road. 

"  Here  they  come,  the  devils  !  one,  two,  three — there 
are  seven  of  them.  I  suppose  this  is  what  they  call  a 
covey  in  these  parts.  Were  you  ever  wolf-hunting 
before,  Joey  ? " 

"  I  don't  call  this  wolf-hunting,"  replied  Joey  -,  "I 
think  the  wolves  are  hunting  us." 

"  It's  all  the  same,  my  little  poacher — it's  a  hunt,  at  all 
events.  They  are  gaining  on  us  fast  j  we  shall  soon  come 
to  an  explanation." 

The  courier  now  climbed  up  to  the  coach-box  to 
reconnoitre,  and  he  shook  his  head,  telling  them  in  very 
plain  English  that  he  did  not  like  it ;  that  he  had  heard 
that  the  wolves  were  out,  in  consequence  of  the  extreme 
severity  of  the  weather,  and  that  he  feared  that  these 
seven  were  only  the  advance  of  a  whole  pack ;  that 
they  had  many  versts   to  go,  for   the  stage   was  a  long 


86  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

one,  and  it  would  be  dark  before  they  were  at  the  end 
of  it. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  chased  by  them  before  ? "  said 
Joey. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  courier,  "  more  than  once ;  it's  the 
horses  that  they  are  so  anxious  to  get  hold  of.  Three  of 
our  horses  are  very  good,  but  the  fourth  is  not  very  well, 
the  driver  says,  and  he  is  fearful  that  he  will  not  hold 
out;  however,  we  must  keep  them  off  as  long  as 
we  can ;  we  must  not  shoot  at  them  till  the  last 
moment." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  inquired  M'Shane. 

"  Because  the  whole  pack  would  scent  the  blood  at 
miles,  and  redouble  their  efforts  to  come  up  with  us. 
There  is  an  empty  bottle  by  you,  sir ;  throw  it  on  the 
road  behind  the  carriage ;  that  will  stop  them  for  a  time." 

"  An  empty  bottle  stop  them !  well,  that's  queer  :  it 
may  stop  a  man  drinking,  because  he  can  get  no  more  out 
of  it.  However,  as  you  please,  gentlemen ;  here's  to 
drink  my  health,  bad  manners  to  you,"  said  M'Shane, 
throwing  the  bottle  over  the  carriage. 

The  courier  was  right ;  at  the  sight  of  the  bottle  in 
the  road  the  wolves,  who  are  of  a  most  suspicious  nature, 
and  think  that  there  is  a  trap  laid  for  them  in  everything, 
stopped  short,  and  gathered  round  it  cautiously ;  the 
carriage  proceeded,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  animals  were 
nearly  out  of  sight. 

"  Well,  that  bothers  me  entirely,"  said  M'Shane ;  "  an 
empty  bottle  is  as  good  to  them  as  a  charged  gun." 

"  But  look,  sir,  they  are  coming  on  again,"  said  Joey, 
"  and  faster  than  ever.  I  suppose  they  were  satisfied  that 
there  was  nothing  in  it." 

The  courier  mounted  again  to  the  box  where  Joey  and 
M'Shane  were  standing.  "I  think  you  had  a  ball  of 
twine,"  said  he  to  Joey,  "  when  you  were  tying  down  the 
baskets  ;  where  is  it  ? " 

"It  is  here  under  the  cushion,"  replied  Joey,  searching 
for  and  producing  it. 


The  Poacher  87 

"  What  shall  we  find  to  tie  to  it  ? "  said  the  courier ; 
"  something  not  too  heavy — a  bottle  won't  do." 

"  What's  it  for  ?  "  inquired  M'Shane. 

"  To  trail,  sir,"  replied  the  courier. 

"  To  trail !  I  think  they're  fast  enough  upon  our  trail 
already ;  but  if  you  want  to  help  them,  a  red  herring's 
the  thing." 

"  No,  sir ;  a  piece  of  red  cloth  would  do  better," 
replied  the  courier. 

"  Red  cloth  !  One  would  think  you  were  fishing  for 
mackerel,"  replied  M'Shane. 

"Will  this  piece  of  black  cloth  do,  which  was  round 
the  lock  of  the  gun  ? "  said  Joey. 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  will,"  replied  the  courier. 

The  courier  made  fast  the  cloth  to  the  end  of  the  twine, 
and  throwing  it  clear  of  the  carriage,  let  the  ball  run  out, 
until  he  had  little  more  than  the  bare  end  in  his  hand,  and 
the  cloth  was  about  forty  yards  behind  the  carriage, 
dragging  over  the  snow. 

"  They  will  not  pass  the  cloth,  sir,"  said  the  courier  ; 
"  they  think  that  it's  a  trap." 

Sure  enough,  the  wolves,  which  had  been  gaining  fast 
on  the  carriage,  now  retreated  again ;  and  although  they 
continued  the  pursuit,  it  was  at  a  great  distance. 

"We  have  an  hour  and  a  half  more  to  go  before  we 
arrive,  and  it  will  be  dark,  I'm  afraid,"  said  the  courier  ; 
"  all  depends  upon  the  horse  holding  out  $  I'm  sure  the 
pack  is  not  far  behind." 

"And  how  many  are  there  in  a  pack?"  inquired 
M'Shane. 

The  courier  shrugged  up  his  shoulders.  "Perhaps  two 
or  three  hundred." 

"Oh!  the  devil!  Don't  I  wish  I  was  at  home  with 
Mrs  M'Shane  ? " 

For  half  an  hour  they  continued  their  rapid  pace,  when 
the  horse  referred  to  showed  symptoms  of  weakness.  Still 
the  wolves  had  not  advanced  beyond  the  piece  of  black 
cloth  which  trailed  behind  the  carriage. 


88  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

"  I  think  that,  considering  that  they  are  so  hungry,  they 
are  amazing  shy  of  the  bait,"  said  M'Shane.  "  By  all  the 
powers,  they've  stopped  again  !  " 

"  The  string  has  broke,  sir,  and  they  are  examining 
the  cloth,"  cried  Joey. 

"Is  there  much  line  left?"  inquired  the  courier,  with 
some  alarm. 

"  No,  it  has  broken  off  by  rubbing  against  the  edge  of 
the  carriage  behind." 

The  courier  spoke  to  the  driver,  who  now  rose  from  his 
seat  and  lashed  his  horses  furiously  ;  but  although  three  of 
the  horses  were  still  fresh,  the  fourth  could  not  keep  up 
with  them,  and  there  was  every  prospect  of  his  being 
dragged  down  on  his  knees,  as  more  than  once  he 
stumbled  and  nearly  fell.  In  the  meantime  the  wolves 
had  left  the  piece  of  cloth  behind  them,  and  were  coming 
up  fast  with  the  carriage. 

"  We  must  fire  on  them  now,  sir,"  said  the  courier, 
going  back  to  his  seat,  "  or  they  will  tear  the  flanks  of  the 
horses." 

M'Shane  and  Joey  seized  their  guns,  the  headmost  wolf 
was  now  nearly  ahead  of  the  carriage  j  Joey  fired,  and  the 
animal  rolled  over  in  the  snow. 

"  That's  a  good  shot,  Joey  j  load  again ;  here's  at 
another." 

M'Shane  fired,  and  missed  the  animal,  which  rushed 
forward  ;  the  courier's  pistol,  however,  brought  it  down, 
just  as  he  was  springing  on  the  hindmost  horses. 

O'Donahue,  astonished  at  the  firing,  now  lowered  down 
the  glass,  and  inquired  the  reason.  M'Shane  replied,  that 
the  wolves  were  on  them,  and  that  he'd  better  load  his 
pistols  in  case  they  were  required. 

The  wolves  hung  back  a  little  upon  the  second  one 
falling,  but  still  continued  the  chase,  although  at  a  more 
respectable  distance.  The  road  was  now  on  a  descent, 
but  the  sick  horse  could  hardly  hold  on  his  legs. 

"  A  little  half-hour  more  and  we  shall  be  in  the  town," 
said  the  courier,  climbing  up  to  the  coach  seat,  and  looking 


The  Poacher  89 

up  the  road  they  had  passed ;  but  St  Nicholas  preserve 
us  !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  and  he  turned  round  and  spoke  in 
hurried  accents  to  the  driver  in  the  Russian  language. 

Again  the  driver  lashed  furiously,  but  in  vain ;  the  poor 
horse  was  dead  beat. 

"What  is  the  matter  now  ?  "  inquired  M'Shane. 

"  Do  you  see  that  black  mass  coming  down  the  hill  ?  it's 
the  main  pack  of  wolves  j  I  fear  we  are  lost ;  the  horse 
cannot  go  on." 

"  Then  why  not  cut  his  traces,  and  go  on  with  the  three 
others  ?  "  cried  Joey. 

"  The  boy  is  right,"  replied  the  man,  and  there  is  no 
time  to  lose.  The  courier  went  down  on  the  sleigh,  spoke 
to  the  driver  in  Russian,  and  the  horses  were  pulled  up. 
The  courier  jumped  out  with  his  knife,  and  commenced 
cutting  the  traces  of  the  tired  horse,  while  the  other  three, 
who  knew  that  the  wolves  were  upon  them,  plunged 
furiously  in  their  harness,  that  they  might  proceed.  It 
was  a  trying  moment.  The  five  wolves  now  came  up ; 
the  first  two  were  brought  down  by  the  guns  of  M'Shane 
and  Joey,  and  O'Donahue  killed  a  third  from  the  carriage 
windows. 

One  of  the  others  advanced  furiously,  and  sprung  upon 
the  horse  which  the  courier  was  cutting  free.  Joey  leapt 
down  and  put  his  pistol  to  the  animal's  head,  and  blew  out 
his  brains,  while  M'Shane,  who  had  followed  our  hero, 
with  the  other  pistol  disabled  the  only  wolf  that  remained. 

But  this  danger  which  they  had  escaped  from  was 
nothing  compared  to  that  which  threatened  them ;  the 
whole  pack  now  came  sweeping  like  a  torrent  down  the 
hill,  with  a  simultaneous  yell  which  might  well  strike 
terror  into  the  bravest.  The  horse  which  had  fallen 
down  when  the  wolf  seized  him  was  still  not  clear  of  the 
sleigh,  and  the  other  three  were  quite  unmanageable. 
M'Shane,  Joey,  and  the  courier,  at  last  drew  him  clear 
from  the  track  ;  they  jumped  into  their  places,  and  away 
they  started  again  like  the  wind,  for  the  horses  were 
maddened  with  fear.     The  whole  pack  of  wolves  was  not 


90  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

one  hundred  yards  from  them  when  they  recommenced 
their  speed,  and  even  then  M'Shane  considered  that  there 
was  no  hope.  But  the  horse  that  was  left  on  the  road 
proved  their  salvation  ;  the  starved  animals  darted  upon 
it,  piling  themselves  one  on  the  other,  snarling  and  tearing 
each  other  in  their  conflict  for  the  feast.  It  was  soon 
over ;  in  the  course  of  three  minutes  the  carcase  had 
disappeared,  and  the  major  portion  of  the  pack  renewed 
their  pursuit ;  but  the  carriage  had  proceeded  too  far 
a-head  of  them,  and  their  speed  being  now  uninterrupted, 
they  gained  the  next  village,  and  O'Donahue  had  the 
satisfaction  of  leading  his  terrified  bride  into  the  chamber 
at  the  post-house,  where  she  fainted  as  soon  as  she  was 
placed  in  a  chair. 

'*  I'll  tell  you  what,  Joey,  I've  had  enough  of  wolves 
for  all  my  life,"  said  M'Shane ;  "  and  Joey,  my  boy, 
you're  a  good  shot  in  the  first  place,  and  a  brave  little 
fellow  in  the  next ;  here's  a  handful  of  roubles,  as  they 
call  them,  for  you  to  buy  lollipops  with,  but  I  don't  think 
you'll  find  a  shop  that  sells  them  hereabouts.  Never 
mind,  keep  your  sweet  tooth  till  you  get  to  old  England 
again  ;  and  after  I  tell  Mrs  M'Shane  what  you  have  done 
for  us  this  day,  she  will  allow  you  to  walk  into  a  leg 
of  beef,  or  round  a  leg  of  mutton,  or  dive  into  a  beef- 
steak-pie, as  long  as  you  live,  whether  it  be  one  hundred 
years,  more  or  less.  I've  said  it,  and  don't  you  forget 
it ;  and  now,  as  the  wolves  have  not  made  their  supper 
upon  us,  let  us  go  and  see  what  we  can  sup  upon  our- 
selves." 


Chapter    XVI 

Return  to  England. 

The  remainder  of  the  journey  was  completed  without  any 
further  adventure,  and  they  at  last  found  themselves  out  of 
the  Russian  dominions,  when  they  were  met  by  the  uncle 


The  Poacher  91 

of  the  Princess,  who,  as  a  Pole,  was  not  sorry  that  his 
niece  had  escaped  from  being  wedded  to  a  Russian.  He 
warmly  greeted  O'Donahue,  as  his  connection,  and  imme- 
diately exerted  all  the  interest  which  he  had  at  the  court 
to  pacify  the  Emperor.  When  the  affair  first  became 
known,  which  it  soon  did,  by  the  Princess  not  returning 
to  court,  his  Majesty  was  anything  but  pleased  at  being 
outwitted ;  but  the  persuasions  of  the  Empress,  the 
pleading  of  the  English  Ambassador,  who  exerted  himself 
strenuously  for  O'Donahue,  with  the  efforts  made  in  other 
quarters,  and,  more  than  all,  the  letter  of  O'Donahue, 
proving  that  the  Emperor  had  given  his  consent  (un- 
wittingly, it  is  true),  coupled  with  his  wish  to  enter  into 
his  service,  at  last  produced  the  desired  effect,  and  after 
two  months  a  notice  of  their  pardon  and  permission  to 
return  was  at  last  despatched  by  the  Empress.  O'Donahue 
considered  that  it  was  best  to  take  immediate  advantage  of 
this  turn  in  his  favour,  and  retrace  his  way  to  the  capital. 
M'Shane,  who  had  been  quite  long  enough  in  the  situation 
of  a  domestic,  now  announced  his  intention  to  return 
home  ;  and  O'Donahue,  aware  that  he  was  separating  him 
from  his  wife,  did  not,  of  course,  throw  any  obstacle  in 
the  way  of  his  departure.  Our  little  hero,  who  has  lately 
become  such  a  cipher  in  our  narrative,  was  now  the  subject 
of  consideration.  O'Donahue  wished  him  to  remain  with 
him,  but  M'Shane  opposed  it. 

"  I  tell  you,  O'Donahue,  that  it  is  no  kindness  to  keep 
him  here  ;  the  boy  is  too  good  to  be  a  page  at  a  lady's 
shoe-string,  or  even  a  servant  to  so  great  a  man  as  you 
are  yourself  now :  besides,  how  will  he  like  being  buried 
here  in  a  foreign  country,  and  never  go  back  to  old 
England  ? " 

"  But  what  will  he  do  better  in  England,  M'Shane  ?  " 

"  Depend  upon  it,  Major,"  said  the  Princess,  for  she 
was  now  aware  of  M'Shane's  rank,  "  I  will  treat  him  like 
a  son." 

"  Still  he  will  be  a  servant,  my  lady,  and  that's  not  the 
position — although,    begging   your    pardon,   an   Emperor 


92  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

might  be  proud  to  be  your  servant ;  yet  that's  not  the 
position  for  little  Joey." 

"  Prove  that  you  will  do  better  for  him,  M'Shane,  and 
he  is  yours  j  but,  without  you  do,  I  am  too  partial  to  him 
to  like  to  part  with  him.    His  conduct  on  the  journey " 

"  Yes,  exactly  ;  his  conduct  on  the  journey,  when  the 
wolves  would  have  shared  us  out  between  them,  is  one 
great  reason  for  my  objection.  He  is  too  good  for  a 
menial,  and  that's  the  fact.  You  ask  me  what  I  intend  to 
do  with  him ;  it  is  not  so  easy  to  answer  that  question, 
because,  you  see,  my  lady,  there  is  a  certain  Mrs  M'Shane 
in  the  way,  who  must  be  consulted  ;  but  I  think  that 
when  I  tell  her,  what  I  consider  to  be  as  near  the  truth  as 
most  things  which  are  said  in  this  world,  that  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  courage  and  activity  of  little  Joey,  a  certain 
Major  M'Shane  would  have  been  by  this  time  eaten  and 
digested  by  a  pack  of  wolves,  why,  I  then  think,  as  Mrs 
M'Shane  and  I  have  no  child,  nor  prospect  of  any,  as  I 
know  of,  that  she  may  be  well  inclined  to  come  into  my 
way  of  thinking,  and  of  adopting  him  as  her  own  son  ;  but, 
of  course,  this  cannot  be  said  without  consulting  with  Mrs 
M'Shane,  seeing  as  how  the  money  is  her  own,  and  she 
has  a  right  to  do  as  she  pleases  with  it." 

"  That,  indeed,  alters  the  case,"  replied  O'Donahue, 
"  and  I  must  not  stand  in  the  way  of  the  boy's  interest ; 
still  I  should  like  to  do  something  for  him." 

"  You  have  done  something  for  him,  O'Donahue  ;  you 
have  prevented  his  starving  ;  and  if  he  has  been  of  any  use 
to  you,  it  is  but  your  reward — so  you  and  he  are  quits. 
Well,  then,  it  is  agreed  that  I  take  him  with  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  O'Donahue,  "  I  cannot  refuse  my  consent 
after  what  you  have  said." 

Two  days  after  this  conversation  the  parties  separated. 
O'Donahue,  with  his  wife,  accompanied  by  Dimitri,  set  off 
on  their  return  to  St  Petersburgh ;  while  M'Shane,  who 
had  provided  himself  with  a  proper  passport,  got  into  the 
diligence,  accompanied  by  little  Joey,  on  his  way  back  to 
England. 


The  Poacher  93 

Chapter  XVII 

The  day  after  the  murder. 

We  must  now  return  to  the  village  of  Grassford  and  the 
cottage  in  which  we  left  Rushbrook  and  his  wife,  who  had 
been  raised  up  from  the  floor  by  her  husband,  and,  having 
now  recovered  from  her  swoon,  was  crying  bitterly  for  the 
loss  of  her  son,  and  the  dread  of  her  husband's  crime 
being  discovered.  For  some  time  Rushbrook  remained 
in  silence,  looking  at  the  embers  in  the  grate ;  Mum  some- 
times would  look  piteously  in  his  master's  face,  at  other 
times  he  would  slowly  approach  the  weeping  woman.  The 
intelligence  of  the  animal  told  him  that  something  was 
wrong.  Finding  himself  unnoticed,  he  would  then  go  to 
the  door  by  which  Joey  had  quitted,  snufF  at  the  crevice, 
and  return  to  his  master's  side. 

"  I'm  glad  that  he's  ofF,"  at  last  muttered  Rushbrook ; 
"  he's  a  fine  boy  that." 

"  Yes,  he  is,"  replied  Jane  ;  "  but  when  shall  I  behold 
him  again  ? " 

"  By-and-bye,  never  fear,  wife.  We  must  not  stay  in 
this  place,  provided  this  affair  blows  over." 

"  If  it  does,  indeed  !  " 

"  Come,  come,  Jane,  we  have  every  reason  to  hope  it 
will ;  now,  let's  go  to  bed ;  it  would  not  do,  if  any  one 
should  happen  to  have  been  near  the  spot,  and  to  have 
found  out  what  has  taken  place,  for  us  to  be  discovered 
not  to  have  been  in  bed  all  night,  or  even  for  a  light  to  be 
seen  at  the  cottage  by  any  early  riser.  Come,  Jane,  let's  to 
bed." 

Rushbrook  and  his  wife  retired,  the  light  was  ex- 
tinguished, and  all  was  quiet,  except  conscience,  which 
still  tormented  and  kept  Rushbrook  turning  to  the  right 
and  left  continually.  Jane  slept  not  j  she  listened  to  the 
wind ;  the  slightest  noise — the  crowing  of  the  cock — 
startled   her,    and    soon   footsteps    were    heard   of  those 


94  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

passing  the  windows.  They  could  remain  in  bed  no  longer. 
Jane  arose,  dressed,  and  lighted  the  fire  ;  Rushbrook  re- 
mained sitting  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  in  deep  thought. 

"I've  been  thinking,  Jane,"  said  he  at  last,  "it  would 
be  better  to  make  away  with  Mum." 

"With  the  dog!  Why,  it  can't  speak,  poor  thing. 
No — no — don't  kill  the  poor  dog." 

"He  can't  speak,  but  the  dog  has  sense;  he  may  lead 
them  to  the  spot." 

"  And  if  he  were  to  do  so,  what  then  ?  it  would  prove 
nothing." 

"No !  only  it  would  go  harder  against  Joey." 

"  Against  the  boy  !  yes,  it  might  convince  them  that 
Joey  did  the  deed  ;  but  still,  the  very  killing  of  the  animal 
would  look  suspicious ;  tie  him  up,  Rushbrook ;  that  will 
do  as  well." 

"Perhaps  better,"  replied  he;  "tie  him  up  in  the  back 
kitchen  ;  there's  a  good  woman." 

Jane  did  so,  and  then  commenced  preparing  the  break- 
fast ;  they  had  taken  their  seats,  when  the  latch  of  the 
door  was  lifted  up,  and  Furness,  the  schoolmaster,  looked 
in.  This  he  was  often  in  the  habit  of  doing,  to  call  Joey 
out  to  accompany  him  to  school. 

"Good  morning,"  said  he;  "now,  where's  my  friend 
Joey?" 

"Come  in,  come  in,  neighbour,  and  shut  the  door," 
said  Rushbrook ;  "  I  wish  to  speak  to  you.  Mayhap 
you'll  take  a  cup  of  tea;  if  so,  my  missus  will  give  you 
a  good  one." 

"  Well,  as  Mrs  Rushbrook  does  make  everything  so 
good,  I  don't  care  if  I  do,  although  I  have  had  breakfast ; 
but  where's  my  friend  Joey  ?  the  lazy  little  dog ;  is  he 
not  up  yet  ?  Why,  Mrs  Rushbrook,  what's  the  matter  ? 
you  look  distressed." 

"  I  am,  indeed,"  replied  Jane,  putting  her  apron  to  her 
eyes. 

"  Why,  Mrs  Rushbrook,  what  is  it  ? "  inquired  the 
pedagogue. 


The  Poacher  95 

"  Just  this ;  we  are  in  great  trouble  about  Joey.  When 
we  got  up  this  morning  we  found  that  he  was  not  in  bed, 
and  he  has  never  been  home  since." 

"Well,  that  is  queer;  why,  where  can  the  young 
scamp  be  gone  to  ? " 

"  We  don't  know  ;  but  we  find  that  he  took  my  gun 

with  him,  and  I'm  afraid "  and  here  Rushbrook  paused, 

shaking  his  head. 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

"  That  he  has  gone  poaching,  and  has  been  taken  by 
the  keepers." 

"  But  did  he  ever  do  so  before  ? " 

"Not  by  night,  if  he  did  by  day.  I  can't  tell;  he 
always  has  had  a  hankering  that  way." 

"Well,  they  do  whisper  the  same  of  you,  neighbour. 
Why  do  you  keep  a  gun  ? " 

"  I've  carried  a  gun  all  my  life,"  replied  Rushbrook, 
"and  I  don't  choose  to  be  without  one;  but  that's  not 
to  the  purpose ;  the  question  is,  what  would  you  advise 
us  to  do  ? " 

"Why  you  see,  friend  Rushbrook,"  replied  the  school- 
master, "  advice  in  this  question  becomes  rather  difficult. 
If  Joey  has  been  poaching  as  you  imagine,  and  has  been 
taken  up  as  you  suspect,  why,  then,  you  will  soon  hear 
of  it ;  you,  of  course,  have  had  no  hand  in  it." 

'-*.  Hand  in  it ! — hand  in  what  ? "  replied  Rushbrook. 
"  Do  you  think  we  trust  a  child  like  him  with  a  gun  ? " 

"  I  should  think  not ;  and  therefore  it  is  evident  that 
he  has  acted  without  the  concurrence  of  his  parents. 
That  will  acquit  you ;  but  still  it  will  not  help  Joey ; 
neither  do  I  think  you  will  be  able  to  recover  the  gun, 
which  I  anticipate  will  become  a  deodand  to  the  lord  of 
the  manor." 

"  But  the  child — what  will  become  of  him  ?  "  exclaimed 
Jane. 

"  What  will  become  of  him  ? — why,  as  he  is  of  tender 
years,  they  will  not  transport  him — at  least,  I  should  think 
not ;  they  may  imprison  him  for  a  few  months,  and  order 


g6  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

him  to  be  privately  whipped.  I  do  not  see  what  you  can 
do,  but  remain  quiet.  I  should  recommend  you  not  to 
say  one  syllable  about  it  until  you  hear  more." 

"  But  suppose  we  do  not  hear  ? " 

"  That  is  to  suppose  that  he  did  not  go  out  with  the 
gun  to  poach,  but  upon  some  other  expedition." 

"What  else  could  the  boy  have  gone  out  for?"  said 
Rushbrook,  hastily. 

"Very  true  ;  it  is  not  very  likely  that  he  went  out  to 
commit  murder,"  replied  the  pedagogue. 

At  the  word  "  murder "  Rushbrook  started  from  his 
chair ;  but,  recollecting  himself,  he  sat  down  again. 

"  No,  no,  Joey  commit  murder  !  "  cried  he.  "  Ha,  ha, 
ha — no,  no,  Joey  is  no  murderer." 

"  I  should  suspect  not.  Well,  Master  Rushbrook,  I 
will  dismiss  my  scholars  this  morning  and  make  every 
inquiry  for  you.  Byres  will  be  able  to  ascertain  very  soon, 
for  he  knows  the  new  keeper  at  the  manor  house." 

"  Byres  help  you,  did  you  say  ?  No,  no,  Byres  never 
will,"  replied  Rushbrook,  solemnly. 

"  And  why  not,  my  friend  ?  " 

"  "Why,"  replied  Rushbrook,  recollecting  himself,  "  he 
has  not  been  over  cordial  with  me  lately." 

"Nevertheless,  depend  upon  it,  he  will  if  he  can," 
replied  Furness  ;  "  if  not  for  you,  he  will  for  me.  Good 
morning,  Mrs  Rushbrook,  I  will  hasten  away  now  ;  but 
will  you  not  go  with  me  ? "  continued  Furness,  appealing 
to  Rushbrook. 

"  I  will  go  another  way  \  it's  no  use  both  going  the  same 
road." 

"  Very  true,"  replied  the  pedagogue,  who  had  his 
reasons  for  not  wishing  the  company  of  Rushbrook,  and 
Furness  then  left  the  house. 

Mr  Furness  found  all  his  boys  assembled  in  the  school- 
room, very  busily  employed  thumbing  their  books ;  he 
ordered  silence,  and  informed  them,  that  in  consequence 
of  Joey  being  missing,  he  was  going  to  assist  his  father  to 
look  after  him ;  and  therefore  they  would  have  a  holiday 


The  Poacher  97 

for  that  day.  He  then  ranged  them  all  in  a  row,  made 
them  turn  to  the  right  face,  clap  their  hands  simultaneously, 
and  disperse. 

Although  Mr  Furness  had  advised  secrecy  to  the 
Rushbrooks,  he  did  not  follow  the  advice  he  had  given  ; 
indeed,  his  reason  for  not  having  wished  Rushbrook  to  be 
with  him  was,  that  he  might  have  an  opportunity  of  com- 
municating his  secret  through  the  village,  which  he  did  by 
calling  at  every  cottage,  and  informing  the  women  who 
were  left  at  home,  that  Joey  Rushbrook  had  disappeared 
last  night,  with  his  father's  gun,  and  that  he  was  about  to 
go  in  quest  of  him.  Some  nodded  and  smiled,  others 
shook  their  heads,  some  were  not  at  all  surprised  at  it, 
others  thought  that  things  could  not  go  on  so  for  ever. 

Mr  Furness  having  collected  all  their  various  opinions, 
then  set  off  to  the  ale-house,  to  find  Byres  the  pedlar. 
When  he  arrived,  he  found  that  Byres  had  not  come  home 
that  night,  and  where  he  was  nobody  knew,  which  was 
more  strange,  as  his  box  was  up  in  his  bed-chamber.  Mr 
Furness  returned  to  the  village,  intending  to  communicate 
this  information  to  Rushbrook,  but,  on  calling,  he  found 
that  Rushbrook  had  gone  out  in  search  of  the  boy. 
Furness  then  resolved  to  go  up  at  once  to  the  keeper's 
lodge,  and  solve  the  mystery.  He  took  the  high  road,  and 
met  Rushbrook  returning. 

"  Well,  have  you  gained  any  tidings  ? "  inquired  the 
pedagogue. 

"  None,"  replied  Rushbrook. 

"Then  it's  my  opinion,  my  worthy  friend,  that  we  had 
better  at  once  proceed  to  the  keeper's  cottage  and  make 
inquiry ;  for,  strange  to  say,  I  have  been  to  the  ale- 
house, and  my  friend  Byres  is  also  missing." 

"Indeed  !  "  exclaimed  Rushbrook,  who  had  now  com- 
pletely recovered  his  self-possession.  "  Be  it  so,  then  ; 
let  us  go  to  the  keeper's." 

They  soon  arrived  there,  and  found  the  keeper  at  home, 
for  he  had  returned  to  his  dinner.     Rushbrook,  who  had 
been  cogitating  how  to  proceed,  was  the  first  to  speak. 
J.R.  G 


98  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

"  You  haven't  taken  my  poor  Joey,  have  you,  sir  ? "  said 
he  to  the  keeper. 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  the  keeper  surlily. 
"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  know  nothing  about 
him  ? "  replied  Rushbrook. 

"  Yes,  I  know  something  about  him  and  about  you  too, 
my  chap,"  replied  the  keeper. 

"But,  Mr  Lucas,"  interrupted  the  pedagogue,  "allow 
me  to  put  you  in  possession  of  the  facts.  It  appears  that 
this  boy — a  boy  of  great  natural  parts,  and  who  has 
been  for  some  time  under  my  tuition,  did,  last  night,  but 
at  what  hour  is  unknown  to  his  disconsolate  parents,  leave 
the  cottage,  taking  with  him  his  father's  gun,  and  has  not 
been  heard  of  since." 

"  Well,  I  only  hope  he's  shot  himself,  that's  all,"  replied 
the  keeper.  "  So  you  have  a  gun,  then,  have  you, 
my  honest  chap  ? "  continued  he,  turning  to  Rushbrook — 
"  Which,"  replied  Furness,  "  as  I  have  informed  him 
already,  will  certainly  be  forfeited  as  a  deodand  to  the  lord 
of  the  manor ;  but,  Mr  Lucas,  this  is  not  all  •,  our  mutual 
friend,  Byres,  the  pedlar,  is  also  missing,  having  left  the 
Cat  and  Fiddle  last  night,  and  not  having  been  heard  of 
since." 

"  Indeed  !  that  makes  out  a  different  case,  and  must  be 
inquired  into  immediately.  I  think  you  were  not  the  best 
of  friends,  were  you  ? "  said  the  keeper,  looking  at  Rush- 
brook ;  and  then  he  continued,  "  Come,  Mary,  give  me 
my  dinner,  quick,  and  run  up  as  fast  as  you  can  for  Dick 
and  Martin,  tell  them  to  come  down  with  their  retrievers 
only.  Never  fear,  Mr  Furness,  we  will  soon  find  it  out. 
Never  fear,  my  chap,  we'll  find  your  son  also,  and  your 
^un  to  boot.     You  may  hear  more  than  you  think  for." 

"  All  I  want  to  know,"  replied  Rushbrook  fiercely,  for 
bis  choler  was  raised  by  the  sneers  of  the  keeper,  "  is, 
where  my  boy  may  be."  So  saying,  he  quitted  the 
cottage,  leaving  the  schoolmaster  with  the  keeper. 

As  Rushbrook  returned  home,  he  revolved  in  his  mind 
what  had  passed,  and  decided  that  nothing  could  be  more 


The  Poacher 


99 


favourable  for  himself,  however  it  might  turn  out  for 
Joey.  This  conviction  quieted  his  fears,  and  when  the 
neighbours  came  in  to  talk  with  him,  he  was  very  cool 
and  collected  in  his  replies.  In  the  meantime  the  keeper 
made  a  hasty  meal,  and  with  his  subordinates  and  the 
dogs,  set  off  to  the  covers,  which  they  beat  till  dark 
without  success.  The  gun,  however,  which  Joey  had 
thrown  down  in  the  ditch,  had  been  picked  up  by  one 
of  the  labourers  returning  from  his  work,  and  taken  by 
him  to  the  ale-house.  None  could  identify  the  gun,  as 
Rushbrook  had  never  permitted  it  to  be  seen.  Lucas,  the 
keeper,  came  in  about  an  hour  after  dusk,  and  immediately 
took  possession  of  it. 

Such  were  the  events  of  the  first  day  after  Joey's 
departure.  Notwithstanding  that  the  snow  fell  fast,  the 
Cat  and  Fiddle  was,  as  it  may  be  supposed,  unusually 
crowded  on  that  night.  Various  were  the  surmises  as  to 
the  disappearance  of  the  pedlar  and  of  little  Joey.  The 
keeper  openly  expressed  his  opinion  that  there  was  foul 
play  somewhere,  and  it  was  not  until  near  midnight  that 
the  ale-house  was  deserted  and  the  doors  closed. 

Rushbrook  and  his  wife  went  to  bed  j  tired  with  watch- 
ing and  excitement,  they  found  oblivion  for  a  few  hours 
in  a  restless  and  unrefreshing  sleep. 


Chapter  XVIII 

A  coroner's  inquest. 

Day  had  scarcely  dawned  when  the  keeper  and  his  satellites 
were  again  on  the  search.  The  snow  had  covered  the 
ground  for  three  or  four  inches,  and,  as  the  covers  had 
been  well  examined  on  the  preceding  day,  they  now  left 
them  and  went  on  in  the  direction  towards  where  the  gun 
had  been  picked  up.  This  brought  them  direct  to  the 
furze  bottom,  where  the  dogs  appeared  to  quicken  their 
movements,  and  when  the  keepers  came   up  with  them 


ioo  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

again,  they  found  them  lying  down  by  the  frozen  and 
stiffened  corpse  of  the  pedlar. 

"  Murder,  as  I  expected,"  said  Lucas,  as  they  lifted  up 
the  body,  and  scraped  off  the  snow  which  covered  it ; 
"  right  through  his  heart,  poor  fellow ;  who  would  have 
expected  this  from  such  a  little  varmint  ?  Look  about, 
my  lads,  and  see  if  we  can  find  anything  else.  What  is 
Nap  scratching  at  ? — a  bag — take  it  up,  Martin.  Dick,  do 
you  go  for  some  people  to  take  the  body  to  the  Cat  and 
Fiddle,  while  we  see  if  we  can  find  anything  more." 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  people  arrived,  the  body 
was  carried  away,  while  the  keeper  went  off  in  all  haste 
to  the  authorities. 

Furness,  the  schoolmaster,  as  soon  as  he  had  obtained 
the  information,  hastened  to  Rushbrook's  cottage,  that 
he  might  be  the  first  to  convey  the  intelligence.  Rush- 
brook,  however,  from  the  back  of  the  cottage,  had  per- 
ceived the  people  carrying  in  the  body,  and  was  pre- 
pared. 

"  My  good  people,  I  am  much  distressed,  but  it  must 
be  told,  believe  me,  I  feel  for  you — your  son,  my  pupil, 
has  murdered  the  pedlar." 

"  Impossible  !  "  cried  Rushbrook. 

"It  is  but  too  true ;  I  cannot  imagine  how  a  boy 
brought  up  under  my  tuition — nay,  Mrs  Rushbrook,  don't 
cry — brought  up,  I  may  say,  with  such  strict  notions  of 
morality,  promising  so  fairly,  blossoming  so  sweetly " 

"  He  never  murdered  the  pedlar ! "  cried  Jane,  whose 
face  was  buried  in  her  apron. 

"  Who  then  could  have  ? "  replied  Furness. 

"  He  never  shot  him  intentionally,  I'll  swear,5*  said 
Rushbrook ;  "if  the  pedlar  has  come  to  his  death,  it  must 
have  been  by  some  accident.  I  suppose  the  gun  went  off 
somehow  or  other  ;  yes,  that  must  be  it ;  and  my  poor  boy, 
frightened  at  what  had  taken  place,  has  run  away." 

"Well,"  replied  the  schoolmaster,  "such  may  have 
been  the  case  ;  and  I  do  certainly  feel  as  if  it  were  impos- 
sible that  a  boy  like  Joey,  brought  up  by  me,  grounded 


The  Poacher  101 

in  every  moral  duty — I  may  add,  religiously  and  piously 
instructed — could  ever  commit  such  a  horrible  crime." 

"Indeed  he  never  did,"  replied  Jane;  "I  am  sure  he 
never  would  do  such  a  thing." 

"  Well,  I  must  wish  you  good-bye  now,  my  poor  people; 
I  will  go  down  to  the  Cat  and  Fiddle,  and  hear  what  they 
say,"  cried  the  pedagogue,  quitting  the  cottage. 

"  Jane,  be  careful,"  said  Rushbrook;  "our  great  point 
now  is  to  say  nothing.  I  wish  that  man  would  not  come 
here." 

"  Oh,  Rushbrook  !  "  cried  Jane,  "  what  would  I  give  if 
we  could  live  this  last  three  days  over  again  !  "  • 

"Then  imagine,  Jane,  what  I  would  give!"  replied 
Rushbrook,  striking  his  forehead  ;  "  and  now  say  no  more 
about  it." 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  next  day  the  magistrates  met,  and 
the  coroner's  inquest  was  held  upon  the  body  of  the  pedlar. 
On  examination  of  the  body,  it  was  ascertained  that  a  charge 
of  small  shot  had  passed  directly  through  the  heart,  so  as 
to  occasion  immediate  death  ;  that  the  murder  had  not  been 
committed  with  the  view  of  robbing  it  was  evident,  as  the 
pedlar's  purse,  watch,  and  various  other  articles  were  found 
upon  his  person. 

The  first  person  examined  was  a  man  of  the  name  of 
Green,  who  had  found  the  gun  in  the  ditch.  The  gun  was 
produced,  and  he  deposed  to  its  being  the  one  which  he 
had  picked  up,  and  given  into  the  possession  of  the  keeper ; 
but  no  one  could  say  to  whom  the  gun  might  belong. 

The  next  party  who  gave  his  evidence  was  Lucas,  the 
gamekeeper.  He  deposed  that  he  knew  the  pedlar,  Byres  ; 
and  that,  being  anxious  to  prevent  poaching,  he  had  offered 
him  a  good  sum  if  he  would  assist  him  in  convicting  any 
poacher ;  that  Byres  had  then  confessed  to  him  that  he  had 
often  received  game  from  Rushbrook,  the  father  of  the  boy, 
and  still  continued  to  do  so,  but  Rushbrook  had  treated  him 
ill,  and  he  was  determined  to  be  revenged  upon  him,  and  get 
him  sent  out  of  the  country  ;  that  Byres  had  informed  him 
on  the  Saturday  night  before  the  murder  was  committed, 


102  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

that  Rushbrook  was  to  be  out  on  Monday  night  to  procure 
game  for  him,  and  that  if  he  looked  out  sharp  he  was 
certain  to  be  taken.  Byres  had  also  informed  him  that  he 
had  never  yet  found  out  when  Rushbrook  left  his  cottage 
or  returned,  although  he  had  often  tracked  the  boy,  Joey. 
As  the  boy  was  missing  on  Monday  morning,  and  Byres 
did  not  return  to  the  ale-house,  after  he  went  out  on 
Saturday  night,  he  presumed  that  it  was  on  the  Sunday 
night  that  the  pedlar  was  murdered. 

The  keeper  then  farther  deposed  as  to  the  finding  of  the 
body,  and  also  of  a  bag  by  the  side  of  it ;  that  the  bag  had 
evidently  been  used  for  putting  game  in,  not  only  from  the 
smell,  but  from  the  feathers  of  the  birds  which  were  still 
remaining  inside  of  it. 

The  evidence  as  to  the  finding  of  the  body  and  the  bag 
was  corroborated  by  that  of  Martin  and  Dick,  the  under- 
keepers. 

Mr  Furness  then  made  his  appearance  to  give  voluntary 
evidence,  notwithstanding  his  great  regard  expressed  for 
the  Rushbrooks.  He  deposed  that,  calling  at  the  cottage 
on  Monday  morning  for  his  pupil,  he  found  the  father  and 
mother  in  great  distress  at  the  disappearance  of  their  son, 
whom  they  stated  to  have  left  the  cottage  some  time  during 
the  night,  and  to  have  taken  away  his  father's  gun  with 
him,  and  that  their  son  had  not  since  returned ;  that  he 
pointed  out  to  Rushbrook  the  impropriety  of  his  having  a 
gun,  and  that  Rushbrook  had  replied  that  he  had  carried 
one  all  his  life,  and  did  not  choose  to  be  without  one ;  that 
they  told  him,  they  supposed  that  he  had  gone  out  to  poach, 
and  was  taken  by  the  keepers,  and  had  requested  him  to  go 
and  ascertain  if  such  was  the  fact.  Mr  Furness  added, 
that  he  really  imagined  that  to  be  the  case,  now  that  he 
saw  the  bag,  which  he  recognized  as  having  been  once 
brought  to  him  by  little  Joey,  with  some  potatoes,  which 
his  parents  had  made  him  a  present  of;  that  he  could  swear 
to  the  bag,  and  so  could  several  others  as  well  as  himself. 
Mr  Furness  then  commenced  a  long  flourish  about  his 
system  of  instruction,  in  which  he  was    stopped    by  the 


The  Poacher  103 

Coroner,  who  said  that  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
business. 

It  was  then  suggested  that  Rushbrook  and  his  wife 
should  be  examined.  There  was  a  demur  at  the  idea  of 
the  father  and  mother  giving  evidence  against  their  child, 
but  it  was  over-ruled,  and  in  ten  minutes  they  both  made 
their  appearance. 

Mrs  Rushbrook,  who  had  been  counselled  by  her 
husband,  was  the  first  examined,  but  she  would  not 
answer  any  question  put  to  her.  She  did  nothing  but 
weep,  and  to  every  question  her  only  reply  was,  "If  he 
did  kill  him  it  was  by  accident ;  my  boy  would  never 
commit  murder."  Nothing  more  was  to  be  obtained  from 
her,  and  the  magistrates  were  so  moved  by  her  distress 
that  she  was  dismissed. 

Rushbrook  trembled  as  he  was  brought  in  and  saw  the 
body  laid  out  on  the  table,  but  he  soon  recovered  himself, 
and  became  nerved  and  resolute,  as  people  often  will  do 
in  extremity.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  answer  some 
questions,  but  not  all. 

"  Do  you  know  at  what  time  your  son  left  the 
cottage  ? M 

"  I  do  not." 

"  Does  that  gun  belong  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  mine." 

"  Do  you  know  that  bag  ? " 

"  Yes,  it  belongs  to  me." 

"  It  has  been  used  for  putting  game  into ;  has  it  not  ?" 

"  I  shall  not  answer  that  question.     I'm  not  on  trial." 

Many  other  questions  were  put  to  him,  but  he  refused 
to  answer  them ;  and  as  they  would  all  more  or  less  have 
criminated  himself  as  a  poacher,  his  refusals  were  admitted. 
Rushbrook  had  played  his  game  well,  in  admitting  the 
gun  and  bag  to  be  his  property,  as  it  was  of  service  to 
him,  and  no  harm  to  Joey.  After  summing  up  the  whole 
evidence,  the  Coroner  addressed  the  Jury,  and  they  re- 
turned a  unanimous  verdict  of  Wilful  Murder  against 
Joseph    Rushbrook,    the   younger,    and    the    magistrates 


104  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

directed  the  sum   of  £200   to  be  offered  for  our  hero's 
apprehension. 


Chapter  XIX 

A  friend  in  need  is  a  friend  indeed. 

Rushbrook  and  Jane  returned  to  their  cottage;  Jane 
closed  the  door,  and  threw  herself  into  her  husband's 
arms.  "  You  are  saved,  at  least,"  she  cried  ;  "  thank 
Heaven  for  that  !  You  are  spared.  Alas  !  we  do  not 
know  how  much  we  love  till  danger  comes  upon  us." 

Rushbrook  was  much  affected ;  he  loved  his  wife,  and 
had  good  reason  to  love  her.  Jane  was  a  beautiful 
woman,  not  yet  thirty,  tall  in  her  person,  her  head  was 
finely  formed,  yet  apparently  small  for  her  height ;  her 
features  were  full  of  expression  and  sweetness.  Had 
she  been  born  to  a  high  station,  she  would  have  been 
considered  one  of  the  greatest  belles.  As  it  was,  she 
was  loved  by  those  around  her  j  and  there  was  a  dignity 
and  commanding  air  about  her  which  won  admiration  and 
respect.  No  one  could  feel  more  deeply  than  she  did 
the  enormity  of  the  offence  committed  by  her  husband  j 
and  yet  never  in  any  moment  since  her  marriage  did  she 
cling  so  earnestly  and  so  closely  by  him  as  she  did  now. 
She  was  of  that  bold  and  daring  temperament,  that  she 
could  admire  the  courage  that  propelled  to  the  crime, 
while  the  crime  itself  she  abhorred.  It  was  not,  therefore, 
anything  surprising  that,  at  such  a  moment,  with  regard 
for  a  husband  to  whom  she  was  devoted,  she  thought 
more  of  the  danger  to  which  he  was  exposed  than  she 
did  of  the  crime  which  had  been  committed. 

To  do  Rushbrook  himself  justice,  his  person  and  mind 
were  of  no  plebeian  mould.  He  was  a  daring,  venturous 
fellow,  ready  at  any  emergency,  cool  and  collected  in 
danger,  had  a  pleasure  in  the  excitement  created  by  the 
difficulty  and  risk  attending  his  nocturnal  pursuits,  caring 


The  Poacher  105 

little  or  nothing  for  the  profits.  He,  as  well  as  his  wife, 
had  not  been  neglected  in  point  of  education ;  he  had 
been  born  in  humble  life,  and  had,  by  enlisting,  chosen  a 
path  by  which  advancement  became  impossible,  but,  had 
Rushbrook  been  an  officer  instead  of  a  common  soldier, 
his  talents  would  probably  have  been  directed  to  more 
noble  channels,  and  the  poacher  and  pilferer  for  his 
captain  might  have  exerted  his  dexterity,  so  as  to  have 
gained  honourable  mention.  His  courage  had  always 
been  remarkable,  and  he  was  looked  upon  by  his  officers, 
and  so  he  was  by  his  companions,  as  the  most  steady 
and  collected  man  under  fire  to  be  found  in  the  whole 
company. 

We  are  the  creatures  of  circumstances.  Frederick  of 
Prussia  had  no  opinion  of  phrenology,  and  one  day  he  sent 
for  the  professor,  and  dressing  up  a  highwayman  and  a 
pickpocket  in  uniforms  and  orders,  he  desired  the  phreno- 
logist to  examine  their  heads,  and  give  his  opinion  as  to 
their  qualifications.  The  savant  did  so,  and,  turning  to 
the  King,  said,  "  Sire,  this  person,"  pointing  to  the  high- 
wayman, "  whatever  he  may  be,  would  have  been  a  great 
general,  had  he  been  employed.  As  for  the  other,  he  is 
quite  in  a  different  line.  He  may  be,  or  if  he  is  not,  he 
would  make,  an  admirable  financier."  The  King  was 
satisfied  that  there  was  some  truth  in  the  science,  "  For," 
as  he  very  rightly  observed,  "  what  is  a  general  but  a 
highwayman,  and  what  is  a  financier  but  a  pickpocket  ? " 

"  Calm  yourself,  dear  Jane,"  said  Rushbrook ;  "all  is 
well  now." 

"  All  well !  yes,  but  my  poor  child — ^200  offered  for 
his  apprehension  !  if  they  were  to  take  him  ? " 

"  I  have  no  fear  of  that  j  and  if  they  did,  they  could 
not  hurt  him  ;  it  is  true  that  they  have  given  their  verdict, 
but  still  they  have  no  positive  proof." 

"But  they  have  hanged  people  upon  less  proof  before 
now,  Rushbrook." 

"Jane,"  replied  Rushbrook,  "our  boy  shall  never  be 
hanged  ;  I  promise  you  that ;  so  make  your  mind  easy." 


106  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

"Then  you  must  confess,  to  save  him,  and  I  shall  lose 
you." 

A  step  at  the  door  interrupted  their  colloquy.  Rush- 
brook  opened  it,  and  Mr  Furness,  the  schoolmaster,  made 
his  appearance. 

"  Well,  my  good  friends,  Pm  very  sorry  the  verdict  has 
been  such  as  it  is,  but  it  cannot  be  helped  ;  the  evidence 
was  too  strong,  and  it  was  a  sad  thing  for  me  to  be  obliged 
to  give  mine." 

"You!"  exclaimed  Rushbrook,  "why,  did  they  call 
you  up  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  put  me  on  my  oath.  An  oath,  to  a  moral 
man,  is  a  very  serious  responsibility  ;  the  nature  of  an  oath 
is  awful ;  and  when  you  consider  my  position  in  this  place, 
as  the  inculcator  of  morals  and  piety  to  the  younger 
branches  of  the  community,  you  must  not  be  surprised  at 
my  telling  the  truth." 

"  And  what  had  you  to  tell  ? "  inquired  Rushbrook, 
with  surprise. 

"  Had  to  tell ! — why,  I  had  to  tell  what  you  told  me 
this  morning  ;  and  I  had  to  prove  the  bag  as  belonging  to 
you  ;  for  you  know  you  sent  me  some  potatoes  in  it  by 
little  Joey,  poor  fellow.  Wilful  murder,  and  two  hundred 
pounds  upon  apprehension  and  conviction  !  " 

Rushbrook  looked  at  the  pedagogue  with  surprise  and 
contempt. 

"  Pray,  may  I  ask  how  they  came  to  know  that  anything 
had  passed  between  us  yesterday  morning,  for,  if  I  recollect 
right,  you  desired  me  to  be  secret  ?  " 

"  Very  true,  and  so  I  did  ;  but  then  they  knew  what 
good  friends  we  always  were,  I  suppose,  and  so  they  sent 
for  me  and  obliged  me  to  speak  upon  my  oath." 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  replied  Rushbrook  ;  "  they 
might  have  asked  you  questions,  but  how  could  they  have 
guessed  that  I  had  told  you  anything  ? " 

"  My  dear  friend,  you  don't  understand  it ;  but,  in  my 
situation,  looking  up  to  me,  as  every  one  does,  as  an 
example  of  moral  rectitude  and  correctness  of  conduct — as 


The  Poacher  107 

a  pattern  to  the  juvenile  branches  of  the  community — you 
see—" 

"  Yes,  I  do  see  that,  under  such  circumstances,  you 
should  not  go  to  the  ale-house  and  get  tipsy  two  days  at 
least  out  of  the  week,"  replied  Rushbrook,  turning  away. 

"  And  why  do  I  go  to  the  ale-house,  my  dear  friend, 
but  to  look  after  those  who  indulge  too  freely — yourself, 
for  instance  ?     How  often  have  I  seen  you  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  when  you  were  drunk  and  I  was — " 

Jane  put  her  hand  upon  her  husband's  mouth. 

"  And  you  were  what,  friend  ? "  inquired  Furness, 
anxiously. 

"  Worse  than  you,  perhaps.  And  now,  friend  Furness, 
as  you  must  be  tired  with  your  long  evidence,  I  wish  you 
a  good-night." 

"  Shall  I  see  you  down  at  the  Cat  and  Fiddle  ? " 

"Not  for  some  time,  if  ever,  friend  Furness,  that  you 
may  depend  upon." 

"  Never  go  to  the  Cat  and  Fiddle  !  A  little  wholesome 
drink  drowns  care,  my  friend ;  and,  therefore,  although  I 
should  be  sorry  that  you  indulged  too  much,  yet,  with  me 
to  look  after  you — " 

" — And  drink  half  my  ale,  eh? — No,  no,  friend  Furness, 
those  days  are  gone." 

"Well,  you  are  not  in  a  humour  for  it  now — but  another 
time.     Mrs  Rushbrook,  have  you  a  drop  of  small  beer  ?  " 

"  I  have  none  to  spare,"  replied  Jane,  turning  away ; 
"  you  should  have  applied  to  the  magistrates  for  beer." 

"  O,  just  as  you  please,"  replied  the  pedagogue ;  "  it 
certainly  does  ruffle  people's  temper  when  there  is  a 
verdict  of  wilful  murder,  and  two  hundred  pounds  for 
apprehension  and  conviction  of  the  offender.    Good  night." 

Furness  banged  the  cottage  door  as  he  went  out. 

Rushbrook  watched  till  he  was  out  of  hearing  and  then 
said,  "He's  a  scoundrel." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  replied  Jane ;  "  but  never  mind,  we 
will  go  to  bed  now,  thank  God  for  his  mercies,  and  pray 
for  his  forgiveness.     Come,  dearest." 


108  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

The  next  morning  Mrs  Rushbrook  was  informed  by  the 
neighbours  that  the  schoolmaster  had  volunteered  his 
evidence.  Rushbrook's  indignation  was  excited,  and  he 
vowed  revenge. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  feelings  of  the  community 
at  the  time  of  the  discovery  of  the  murder,  certain  it  is 
that,  after  all  was  over,  there  was  a  strong  sympathy 
expressed  for  Rushbrook  and  his  wife,  and  the  condolence 
was  very  general.  The  gamekeeper  was  avoided,  and  his 
friend  Furness  fell  into  great  disrepute,  after  his  voluntarily 
coming  forward  and  giving  evidence  against  old  and  sworn 
friends.  The  consequence  was,  his  school  fell  off,  and  the 
pedagogue,  whenever  he  could  raise  the  means,  became 
more  intemperate  than  ever. 

One  Saturday  night,  Rushbrook,  who  had  resolved  to 
pick  a  quarrel  with  Furness,  went  down  to  the  ale-house. 
Furness  was  half  drunk,  and  pot  valiant.  Rushbrook 
taunted  him  so  as  to  produce  replies.  One  word  brought 
on  another,  till  Furness  challenged  Rushbrook  to  come 
outside  and  have  it  out.  This  was  just  what  Rushbrook 
wished,  and  after  half  an  hour  Furness  was  carried  home 
beaten  to  a  mummy,  and  unable  to  leave  his  bed  for  many 
days.  As  soon  as  this  revenge  had  been  taken,  Rush- 
brook, who  had  long  made  up  his  mind  so  to  do,  packed 
up  and  quitted  the  village,  no  one  knowing  whither  he 
and  Jane  went ;  and  Furness,  who  had  lost  all  means  of 
subsistence,  did  the  same  in  a  very  few  days  afterwards, 
his  place  of  retreat  being  equally  unknown. 


Chapter    XX 

In  which  we  again  follow  up  our  hero's  destiny. 

After  the  resolution  that  Major  M'Shane  came  to,  it  is 
not  to  be  surprised  that  he  made,  during  their  journey 
home,  every  inquiry  of  Joey  relative  to  his  former  life. 
To  these  Joey  gave  him  a  very  honest  reply  in  everything 


The  Poacher  109 

except  that  portion  of  his  history  in  which  his  father  was 
so  seriously  implicated  ;  he  had  the  feeling  that  he  was 
bound  in  honour  not  to  reveal  the  circumstances  connected 
with  the  murder  of  the  pedlar.  M'Shane  was  satisfied, 
and  they  arrived  in  London  without  further  adventure. 
As  soon  as  M'Shane  had  been  embraced  by  his  wife,  he 
gave  a  narrative  of  his  adventures,  and  did  not  forget  to 
praise  little  Joey  as  he  deserved.  Mrs  M'Shane  was  all 
gratitude,  and  then  it  was  that  M'Shane  expressed  his 
intentions  towards  our  hero,  and,  as  he  expected,  he 
found  his  amiable  wife  wholly  coincide  with  him  in 
opinion.  It  was  therefore  decided  that  Joey  should  be 
put  to  a  school,  and  be  properly  educated,  as  soon  as  an 
establishment  that  was  eligible  could  be  found. 

Their  full  intentions  towards  him,  however,  were  not 
communicated  to  our  hero ;  he  was  told  that  he  was  to 
go  to  school,  and  he  willingly  submitted ;  it  was  not, 
however,  for  three  months  that  M'Shane  would  part  with 
him  ;  a  difficulty  was  raised  against  every  establishment 
that  was  named.  During  this  time  little  Joey  was  very 
idle,  for  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do.  Books  there 
were  none,  for  Mrs  M'Shane  had  no  time  to  read,  and 
Major  M'Shane  no  inclination.  His  only  resort  was  to 
rummage  over  the  newspapers  which  were  taken  in  for 
the  benefit  of  the  customers,  and  this  was  his  usual  employ- 
ment. One  day,  in  turning  over  the  file,  he  came  to  the 
account  of  the  murder  of  the  pedlar,  with  the  report  of  the 
coroner's  inquest.  He  read  all  the  evidence,  particularly 
that  of  Furness,  the  schoolmaster,  and  found  that  the  verdict 
was  wilful  murder,  with  a  reward  of  ^200  for  his  appre- 
hension. The  term,  wilful  murder,  he  did  not  exactly 
comprehend ;  so,  after  laying  down  the  paper,  with  a 
beating  heart  he  went  to  Mrs  M'Shane,  and  asked  her 
what  was  the  meaning  of  it. 

"  Meaning,  child  ?  "  replied  Mrs  M'Shane,  who  was 
then  very  busy  in  her  occupation,  "  it  means,  child,  that 
a  person  is  believed  to  be  guilty  of  murder,  and  if  taken 
up,  he  will  be  hanged  by  the  neck  till  he  is  dead." 


no  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

"But,"  replied  Joey,  "suppose  he  has  not  committed 
the  murder  ? " 

"  Well  then,  child,  he  must  prove  that  he  has  not." 

"  And  suppose,  although  he  has  not  committed  it,  he 
cannot  prove  it  ? " 

"  Mercy  on  me,  what  a  number  of  supposes  !  why, 
then  he  will  be  hanged  all  the  same,  to  be  sure." 

A  fortnight  after  these  queries,  Joey  was  sent  to  school ; 
the  master  was  a  very  decent  man,  the  mistress  a  very 
decent  woman,  the  tuition  was  decent,  the  fare  was 
decent,  the  scholars  were  children  of  decent  families ; 
altogether,  it  was  a  decent  establishment,  and  in  this 
establishment  little  Joey  made  very  decent  progress,  going 
home  every  half-year.  How  long  Joey  might  have 
remained  there  it  is  impossible  to  say ;  but  having  been 
there  for  a  year  and  a  half,  and  arrived  at  the  age  of 
fourteen,  he  had  just  returned  from  the  holidays  with 
three  guineas  in  his  pocket,  for  M'Shane  and  his  wife 
were  very  generous  and  very  fond  of  their  protege,  when 
a  circumstance  occurred  which  again  ruffled  the  smooth 
current  of  our  hero's  existence. 

He  was  walking  out  as  all  boys  do  walk  out  in  decent 
schools,  that  is,  in  a  long  line,  two  by  two,  as  the  animals 
entered  Noah's  Ark,  when  a  sort  of  shabby-genteel  man 
passed  their  files.  He  happened  to  cast  his  eyes  upon 
Joey,  and  stopped.  "Master  Joseph  Rushbrook,  I  am 
most  happy  to  see  you  once  more,"  said  he  extending  his 
hand.  Joey  looked  up  into  his  face ;  there  was  no 
mistake,  it  was  Furness,  the  schoolmaster.  "  Don't  you 
recollect  me,  my  dear  boy  ?  Don't  you  recollect  him 
who  taught  the  infant  idea  how  to  shoot  ?  Don't  you 
recollect  your  old  preceptor  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Joey,  colouring  up,  "  I  recollect  you 
very  well." 

"I  am  delighted  to  see  you ;  you  know  you  were  my 
fairest  pupil,  but  we  are  all  scattered  now ;  your  father 
and  mother  have  gone  no  one  knows  where  j  you  went 
away,  and  I  also  could  no  longer  stay.  What  pleasure 
it  is  to  meet  you  once  more  ! " 


The  Poacher  1 1 1 

Joey  did  not  respond  exactly  to  the  pleasure.  The 
stoppage  of  the  line  had  caused  some  confusion,  and  the 
usher,  who  had  followed  it,  now  came  up  to  ascertain  the 
cause.  "  This  is  my  old  pupil,  or  rather,  I  should  say, 
my  young  pupil ;  but  the  best  pupil  I  ever  had.  I  am 
most  delighted  to  see  him,  sir,"  said  Furness,  taking  off 
his  hat.  "  May  I  presume  to  ask  who  has  the  charge  of 
this  dear  child  at  this  present  moment  ?  " 

The  usher  made  no  difficulty  in  stating  the  name  and 
residence  of  the  preceptor,  and,  having  gained  this 
information,  Furness  shook  Joey  by  the  hand,  bade  him 
farewell,  and,  wishing  him  every  happiness,  walked  away. 

Joey's  mind  was  confused  during  the  remainder  of  his 
walk,  and  it  was  not  until  their  return  home  that  he  could 
reflect  on  what  had  passed.  That  Furness  had  given 
evidence  upon  the  inquest  he  knew,  and  he  had  penetration, 
when  he  read  it,  to  feel  that  there  was  no  necessity  for 
Furness  having  given  such  evidence.  He  also  knew  that 
there  was  a  reward  of  two  hundred  pounds  for  his 
apprehension ;  and  when  he  thought  of  Furness's  apparent 
kindness,  and  his  not  reverting  to  a  subject  so  important 
as  wilful  murder  having  been  found  against  him,  he  made 
up  his  mind  that  Furness  had  behaved  so  with  the  purpose 
of  lulling  him  into  security,  and  that  the  next  day  he 
would  certainly  take  him  up,  for  the  sake  of  the  reward. 

Now,  although  we  have  not  stopped  our  narrative 
to  introduce  the  subject,  we  must  here  observe  that  Joey's 
love  for  his  parents,  particularly  his  father,  was  unbounded  j 
he  longed  to  see  them  again ;  they  were  constantly  in  his 
thoughts,  and  yet  he  dared  not  mention  them,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  mystery  connected  with  his  quitting  his 
home.  He  fully  perceived  his  danger :  he  would  be 
apprehended,  and,  being  so,  he  must  either  sacrifice  his 
father  or  himself.  Having  weighed  all  this  in  his  mind, 
he  then  reflected  upon  what  should  be  his  course  to  steer. 
Should  he  go  home  to  acquaint  Major  M'Shane  ?  He 
felt  that  he  could  trust  him,  and  would  have  done  so, 
but  he  had  no  right  to  entrust  any  one  with  a  secret  which 


112  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

involved  his  father's  life.  No,  that  would  not  do ;  yet, 
to  leave  him  and  Mrs  M'Shane  after  all  their  kindness, 
and  without  a  word,  this  would  be  too  ungrateful.  After 
much  cogitation,  he  resolved  that  he  would  run  away, 
so  that  all  clue  to  him  should  be  lost ;  that  he  would 
write  a  letter  for  M'Shane,  and  leave  it.  He  wrote  as 
follows : — 

"  Dear  Sir, — Do  not  think  me  ungrateful,  for  I  love 
you  and  Mrs  M'Shane  dearly,  but  I  have  been  met  by  a 
person  who  knows  me,  and  will  certainly  betray  me.  I 
left  my  father's  home,  not  for  poaching,  but  a  murder 
that  was  committed  ;  1  was  not  guilty.  This  is  the  only 
secret  I  have  held  from  you,  and  the  secret  is  not  mine. 
I  could  not  disprove  it,  and  never  will.  I  now  leave 
because  I  have  been  discovered  by  a  bad  man,  who  will 
certainly  take  advantage  of  having  fallen  in  with  me.  We 
may  never  meet  again.  I  can  say  no  more,  except  that 
I  shall  always  pray  for  you  and  Mrs  M'Shane,  and 
remember  your  kindness  with  gratitude. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  Joey  M'Shane." 

Since  his  return  from  St  Petersburgh,  Joey  had  always, 
by  their  request,  called  himself  Joey  M'Shane,  and  he 
was  not  sorry  when  they  gave  him  the  permission, 
although  he  did  not  comprehend  the  advantages  which 
were  to  accrue  from  taking  the  name. 

Joey,  having  finished  his  letter,  sat  down  and  cried 
bitterly — but  in  a  school  there  is  no  retiring  place  for 
venting  your  feelings,  and  he  was  compelled  to  smother 
his  tears.  He  performed  his  exercises,  and  repeated  his 
lessons,  as  if  nothing  had  happened  and  nothing  was 
about  to  happen,  for  Joey  was  in  essence  a  little  stoic. 
At  night  he  went  to  his  room  with  the  other  boys  ;  he 
could  only  obtain  a  small  portion  of  his  clothes,  these  he 
put  up  in  a  handkerchief,  went  softly  downstairs  about 
one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  put  his  letter,  addressed  to 
M'Shane,  on  the  hall  table,  opened  the  back  door,  climbed 


The  Poacher  1 1 3 

over  the  play-ground  wall,  and  was  again  on  the  road  to 
seek  his  fortune. 

But  Joey  was  much  improved  during  the  two  years 
since  he  had  quitted  his  father's  house.  Before  that, 
he  was  a  reflective  boy  •/  now,  he  was  more  capable 
of  action  and  decision.  His  ideas  had  been  much  expanded 
from  the  knowledge  of  the  world  gained  during  his  entry, 
as  it  were,  into  life;  he  had  talked  much,  seen  much, 
listened  much,  and  thought  more ;  and  naturally  quiet 
in  his  manner,  he  was  now  a  gentlemanlike  boy.  At  the 
eating-house  he  had  met  with  every  variety  of  character  ; 
and  as  there  were  some  who  frequented  the  house  daily, 
with  those  Joey  had  become  on  intimate  terms.  He  was 
no  longer  a  child,  but  a  lad  of  undaunted  courage  and 
presence  of  mind ;  he  had  only  one  fear,  which  was  that 
his  father's  crime  should  be  discovered. 

And  now  he  was  again  adrift,  with  a  small  bundle,  three 
guineas  in  his  pocket,  and  the  world  before  him.  At  first 
he  had  but  one  idea,  that  of  removing  to  a  distance  which 
should  elude  the  vigilance  of  Furness,  and  he  therefore 
walked  on,  and  walked  fast.  Joey  was  capable  of  great 
fatigue  ;  he  had  grown  considerably,  it  is  true,  during  the 
last  two  years  ;  still  he  was  small  for  his  age  ;  but  every 
muscle  in  his  body  was  a  wire,  and  his  strength,  as  had 
been  proved  by  his  schoolmates,  was  proportionate.  He 
was  elastic  as  indiarubber,  and  bold  and  determined  as  one 
who  had  been  all  his  life  in  danger. 


Chapter  XXI 

The  scene  is  again  shifted,  and  the  plot  advances. 

It  will  be  necessary  that  for  a  short  time  we  again  follow 
up  the  fortunes  of  our  hero's  parents.  When  Rushbrook 
and  Jane  had  quitted  the  village  of  Grassford,  they  had 
not  come  to  any  decision  as  to  their  future  place  of  abode ; 
all  that  Rushbrook  felt  was  a  desire  to  remove  as  far  as 

J.R.  H 


H4  Joseph  Rushbrook;   or, 

possible  from  the  spot  where  the  crime  had  been  com- 
mitted. Such  is  the  feeling  that  will  ever  possess  the 
guilty,  who,  although  they  may  increase  their  distance, 
attempt  in  vain  to  fly  from  their  consciences,  or  that  all- 
seeing  eye  which  follows  them  everywhere.  Jane  had  a 
similar  feeling,  but  it  arose  from  her  anxiety  for  her 
husband.  They  wandered  away,  for  they  had  sold  every- 
thing before  their  departure,  until  they  found  themselves 
in  the  West  Riding  of  Yorkshire,  and  there  they  at  length 
settled  in  a  small  village.  Rushbrook  easily  obtained 
employment,  for  the  population  was  scanty,  and  some 
months  passed  away  without  anything  occurring  of  interest. 

Rushbrook  had  never  taken  up  his  employment  as  a 
poacher  since  the  night  of  the  murder  of  the  pedlar ;  he 
had  abjured  it  from  that  hour.  His  knowledge  of  wood- 
craft was,  however,  discovered,  and  he  was  appointed  first 
as  under,  and  eventually  as  head  keeper  to  a  gentleman  of 
landed  property  in  the  neighbourhood.  In  this  situation 
they  had  remained  about  a  year,  Rushbrook  giving  full 
satisfaction  to  his  employer,  and  comparatively  content 
(for  no  man  could  have  such  a  crime  upon  his  conscience 
and  not  pass  occasional  hours  of  misery  and  remorse),  and 
Jane  was  still  mourning  in  secret  for  her  only  and  darling 
child,  when  one  day  a  paper  was  put  into  Rushbrook's 
hands  by  his  master,  desiring  him  to  read  an  advertisement 
which  it  contained,  and  which  was  as  follows  : — "  If  Joseph 
Rushbrook,  who  formerly  lived  in  the  village  of  Grassford, 
in  the  county  of  Devon,  should  be  still  alive,  and  will 
make  his  residence  known  to  Messrs  Pearce,  James,  and 
Simpson,  of  14  Chancery-lane,  he  will  hear  of  something 
greatly  to  his  advantage.  Should  he  be  dead,  and  this 
advertisement  meet  the  eye  of  his  heirs,  they  are  equally 
requested  to  make  the  communication  to  the  above 
address." 

"What  does  it  mean,  sir  ?  "  inquired  Rushbrook. 

"  It  means  that,  if  you  are  that  person,  in  all  probability 
there  is  some  legacy  bequeathed  to  you  by  a  relative," 
replied  Mr  S ;  "  is  it  you  ?  " 


The  Poacher  115 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Rushbrook,  changing  colour  ;  "  I 
did  once  live  at  Grassford." 

"  Then  you  had  better  write  to  the  parties  and  make 
yourself  known.     I  will  leave  you  the  newspaper." 

"What  think  you,  Jane  ?"  said  Rushbrook,  as  soon  as 
Mr had  quitted. 

"  I  think  he  is  quite  right,"  replied  Jane. 

"  But,  Jane,  you  forgot — this  may  be  a  trap  ;  they 
may  have  discovered  something  about — you  know  what  I 
mean." 

"  Yes,  I  do,  and  I  wish  we  could  forget  it ;  but  in  this 
instance  I  do  not  think  you  have  anything  to  fear.  There 
is  no  reward  offered  for  your  apprehension,  but  for  my 
poor  boy's,  who  is  now  wandering  over  the  wide  world  ; 
and  no  one  would  go  to  the  expense  to  apprehend  you, 
if  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  it." 

"  True,"  replied  Rushbrook,  after  a  minute's  reflection; 
"  but,  alas  !  I  am  a  coward  now — I  will  write." 

Rushbrook  wrote  accordingly,  and,  in  reply,  received  a 
letter  enclosing  a  bank  bill  for  £20,  and  requesting  that  he 
would  come  to  town  immediately.  He  did  so,  and  found, 
to  his  astonishment,  that  he  was  the  heir-at-law  to  a  pro- 
perty of  ^7000  per  annum — with  the  only  contingency, 
that  he  was,  as  nearest  of  kin,  to  take  the  name  of  Austin. 
Having  entered  into  all  the  arrangements  required  by  the 
legal  gentlemen,  he  returned  to  Yorkshire,  with  ^5°°  m 
his  pocket,  to  communicate  the  intelligence  to  his  wife ; 
and  when  he  did  so,  and  embraced  her,  she  burst  into 
tears. 

"  Rushbrook,  do  not  think  I  mean  to  reproach  you  by 
these  tears  ;  but  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  you  would 
have  been  happier  had  this  never  happened.  Your  life 
will  be  doubly  sweet  to  you  now,  and  Joey's  absence  will 
be  a  source  of  more  vexation  than  ever.  Do  you  think 
that  you  will  be  happier  ?  " 

"  Jane,  dearest !  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  as  well  as 
you,  and,  on  reflection,  I  think  I  shall  be  safer.  Who 
would  know  the  poacher  Rushbrook  in  the  gentleman  of 


n6  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

jTjooo  a  year,  of  the  name  of  Austin  ?  Who  will  dare 
accuse  him,  even  if  there  were  suspicion  ?  I  feel  that 
once  in  another  county,  under  another  name,  and  in 
another  situation,  I  shall  be  safe." 

"  But  Our  poor  boy,  should  he  ever  come  back " 

" — Will  also  be  forgotten.  He  will  have  grown  up 
a  man,  and,  having  another  name,  will  never  be  recog- 
nized ;  they  will  not  even  know  what  our  former  name 
was." 

"I  trust  that  it  will  be  as  you  say.  What  do  you  now 
mean  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  shall  say  that  I  have  a  property  of  four  or  five 
hundred  pounds  left  me,  and  that  I  intend  to  go  up  to 
London,"  replied  Rushbrook. 

"  Yes,  that  will  be  wise  ;  it  will  be  an  excuse  for  Our 
leaving  this  place,  and  will  be  no  clue  to  where  we  are 
going,"  replied  Jane. 

Rushbrook  gave  up  his  situation,  sold  his  furniture,  and 
quitted  Yorkshire.  In  a  few  weeks  afterwards  he  was 
installed  into  his  new  property,  a  splendid  mansion,  and 
situated  in  the  west  of  Dorsetshire.  Report  had  gone 
before  them  ;  some  said  that  a  common  labourer  had  come 
into  the  property,  others  said  that  it  was  a  person  in  very 
moderate  circumstances  ;  as  usual,  both  these  reports  were 
contradicted  by  a  third,  which  represented  him  as  a  half- 
pay  lieutenant  in  the  army.  Rushbrook  had  contrived  to 
mystify  even  the  solicitor  as  to  his  situation  in  life  ;  he 
stated  to  him  that  he  had  retired  from  the  army,  and  lived 
upon  the  government  allowance  ;  and  it  was  in  consequence 
of  a  reference  to  the  solicitor,  made  by  some  of  the  best 
families  in  the  neighbourhood,  who  wished  to  ascertain  if 
the  newcomers  were  people  who  could  be  visited,  that 
this  third  report  was  spread,  and  universally  believed. 
We  have  already  observed  that  Rushbrook  was  a  fine,  tall 
man ;  and  if  there  is  any  class  of  people  who  can  be 
transplanted  with  success  from  low  to  high  life,  it  will  be 
those  who  have  served  in  the  army.  The  stoop  is  the 
evidence  of  a  low-bred,   vulgar   man,   the   erect   bearing 


The  Poacher  117 

equally  so  that  of  a  gentleman.  Now,  the  latter  is  gained 
in  the  army,  by  drilling  and  discipline,  and  being  well 
dressed  will  provide  for  all  else  that  is  required,  as  far  as 
mere  personal  appearance  is  concerned.  When,  therefore, 
the  neighbours  called  upon  Mr  and  Mrs  Austin,  they  were 
not  surprised  to  find  an  erect,  military-looking  man,  but 
they  were  very  much  surprised  to  find  him  matched  with 
such  a  fine,  and  even  elegant-looking  woman,  as  his  wife. 
Timid  at  first,  Jane  had  sufficient  tact  to  watch  others  and 
copy,  and  before  many  months  were  passed  in  their  new 
position,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  suppose  that  Mrs 
Austin  had  not  been  born  in  the  sphere  in  which  she  then 
moved.  Austin  was  brusque  and  abrupt  in  his  manners  as 
before  ;  but  still  there  was  always  a  reserve  about  him, 
which  he  naturally  felt,  and  which  assisted  to  remove 
the  impression  of  vulgarity.  People  who  are  distant 
are  seldom  considered  ungentlemanlike,  although  they 
may  be  considered  unpleasant  in  their  manners.  It  is 
those  who  are  too  familiar  who  obtain  the  character  of 
vulgarity. 

Austin,  therefore,  was  respected,  but  not  liked ;  Jane, 
on  the  contrary,  whose  beauty  had  now  all  the  assistance 
of  dress,  and  whose  continued  inward  mourning  for  her 
lost  son  had  improved  that  beauty  by  the  pensive  air  which 
she  wore,  was  a  deserved  and  universal  favourite.  People 
of  course  said  that  Austin  was  a  harsh  husband,  and  pitied 
poor  Mrs  Austin ;  but  that  people  always  do  say  if  a 
woman  is  not  inclined  to  mirth. 

Austin  found  ample  amusement  in  sporting  over  his 
extensive  manor,  and  looking  after  his  game.  In  one 
point  the  neighbouring  gentlemen  were  surprised,  that, 
although  so  keen  a  sportsman  himself  he  never  could  be 
prevailed  upon  to  convict  a  poacher.  He  was  appointed  a 
magistrate,  and  being  most  liberal  in  all  his  subscriptions, 
was  soon  considered  as  a  great  acquisition  to  the  county. 
His  wife  was  much  sought  after,  but  it  was  invariably 
observed  that,  when  children  were  mentioned,  the  tears 
stood  in  her  eyes.     Before  they  had  been  a  year  in  their 


1 1 8  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

new  position,  they  had  acquired  all  the  knowledge  and 
tact  necessary ;  their  establishment  was  on  a  handsome 
scale ;  they  were  visited  and  paid  visits  to  all  the  aris- 
tocracy and  gentry,  and  were  as  popular  as  they  could 
have  desired  to  be.  But  were  they  happy  ?  Alas  !  no. 
Little  did  those  who  envied  Austin  his  property  and 
establishment  imagine  what  a  load  was  on  his  mind — what 
a  corroding  care  was  wearing  out  his  existence.  Little  did 
they  imagine  that  he  would  gladly  have  resigned  all,  and 
been  once  more  the  poacher  in  the  village  of  Grassford, 
to  have  removed  from  his  conscience  the  deed  of  darkness 
which  he  had  committed,  and  once  more  have  his.  son  by 
his  side.  And  poor  Jane,  her  thoughts  were  day  and  night 
upon  one  object — where  was  her  child  ?  It  deprived  her 
of  rest  at  night ;  she  remained  meditating  on  her  fate  for 
hours  during  the  day ;  it  would  rush  into  her  mind  in  the 
gayest  scenes  and  the  happiest  moments ;  it  was  one 
incessant  incubus — one  continual  source  of  misery.  Of 
her  husband  she  thought  less  ;  for  she  knew  how  sincerely 
contrite  he  was  for  the  deed  he  had  done — how  bitterly  he 
had  repented  it  ever  since,  and  how  it  would,  as  long  as 
he  lived,  be  a  source  of  misery — a  worm  that  would  never 
die,  but  gnaw  till  the  last  hour  of  his  existence.  But  her 
boy — her  noble,  self-sacrificed  little  Joey  ! — he  and  his 
destiny  were  ever  in  her  thoughts ;  and  gladly  would  she 
have  been  a  pauper  applying  for  relief,  if  she  had  but  that 
child  to  have  led  up  in  her  hand.  And  yet  all  the  county 
thought  how  happy  and  contented  the  Austins  ought  to  be, 
to  have  suddenly  come  into  possession  of  so  much  wealth. 
'Tis  God  alone  that  knows  the  secrets  of  the  heart  of  man. 


Chapter  XXII 

A  very  long  chapter,  but  in  which  our  hero  obtains  employment  in  a  very 
short  time. 

The  preparatory   establishment    for  young  gentlemen   to 
which  our  hero  had  been  sent  was  situated  on  Clapham- 


The  Poacher  119 

rise.  Joey  did  not  think  it  prudent  to  walk  in  the 
direction  of  London ;  he  therefore  made  a  cut  across  the 
country,  so  as  to  bring  him,  before  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  not  very  far  from  Gravesend.  The  night  had 
been  calm  and  beautiful,  for  it  was  in  the  month  of 
August ;  and  it  had  for  sometime  been  broad  daylight 
when  our  hero,  who  had  walked  fifteen  or  sixteen  miles, 
sat  down  to  repose  himself;  and,  as  he  remained  quietly 
seated  on  the  green  turf  on  the  wayside,  he  thought  of 
his  father  and  mother,  of  the  kindness  of  the  M'Shanes, 
and  his  own  hard  fate,  until  he  became  melancholy  and 
wept ;  and,  as  the  tears  were  rolling  down  his  cheeks, 
a  little  girl,  of  about  ten  years  old,  very  neatly  dressed, 
and  evidently  above  the  lower  ranks  of  life,  came  along 
the  road,  her  footsteps  so  light  as  not  to  be  perceived 
by  Joey  ;  she  looked  at  him  as  she  passed,  and  perceived 
that  he  was  in  tears,  and  her  own  bright,  pretty  face 
became  clouded  in  a  moment.  Joey  did  not  look  up,  and, 
after  hesitating  awhile,  she  passed  on  a  few  steps,  and 
then  she  looked  round,  and  observing  that  he  was  still 
weeping,  she  paused,  turned  round,  and  came  back  to 
him ;  for  a  minute  or  two  she  stood  before  him,  but  Joey 
was  unconscious  of  her  presence,  for  he  was  now  in  the  full 
tide  of  his  grief,  and,  not  having  forgotten  the  precepts 
which  had  been  carefully  instilled  into  him,  he  thought 
of  the  God  of  Refuge,  and  he  arose,  fell  on  his  knees, 
and  prayed.  The  little  girl,  whose  tears  had  already 
been  summoned  by  pity  and  sympathy,  dropped  her 
basket,  and  knelt  by  his  side — not  that  she  prayed,  for 
she  knew  not  what  the  prayer  was  for,  but  from  an  in- 
stinctive feeling  of  respect  towards  the  Deity  which  her 
new  companion  was  addressing,  and  a  feeling  of  kindness 
towards  one  who  was  evidently  suffering.  Joey  lifted 
up  his  eyes,  and  beheld  the  child  on  her  knees,  the  tears 
rolling  down  her  cheeks  ;  he  hastily  wiped  his  eyes,  for, 
until  that  moment,  he  imagined  that  he  had  been  alone ; 
he  had  been  praying  on  account  of  his  loneliness — he 
looked  up,  and  he  was  not  alone,  but  there  was  one  by 


120  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

his  side  who  pitied  him,  without  knowing  wherefore ; 
he  felt  relieved  by  the  sight.  They  both  regained  their 
feet  at  the  same  time,  and  Joey  went  up  to  the  little  girl, 
and,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  said,  "  Thank  you." 

"  Why  do  you  cry  ?  "  said  the  little  girl. 

"Because  I  am  unhappy;  I  have  no  home,"  replied 
Joey. 

"  No  home  !  "  said  the  little  girl  j  "  it  is  boys  who  are 
in  rags  and  starving,  who  have  no  home,  not  young  gentle- 
men dressed  as  you  are." 

"But  I  have  left  my  home,"  replied  Joey. 

"  Then  go  back  again — how  glad  they  will  be  to  see 
you  ! " 

"  Yes,  indeed  they  would,"  replied  Joey,  "  but  I  must 
not." 

"  You  have  not  done  anything  wrong,  have  you  ?  No, 
I'm  sure  you  have  not — you  must  be  a  good  boy,  or  you 
would  not  have  prayed." 

"  No,  I  have  done  nothing  wrong,  but  I  must  not  tell 
you  any  more." 

Indeed,  Joey  was  much  more  communicative  with  the 
little  girl  than  he  would  have  been  with  anybody  else  ; 
but  he  had  been  surprised  into  it,  and,  moreover,  he  had 
no  fear  of  being  betrayed  by  such  innocence.  He  now 
recollected  himself,  and  changed  the  conversation. 

"  And  where  are  you  going  to  ?  "  inquired  he. 

"  I  am  going  to  school  at  Gravesend.  I  go  there  every 
morning,  and  stay  till  the  evening.  This  is  my  dinner 
in  my  basket.     Are  you  hungry  ? " 

"  No,  not  particularly." 

"  Are  you  going  to  Gravesend  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Joey.     "  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Emma  Phillips." 

"  Have  you  a  father  and  mother  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  father  j  he  was  killed  fighting,  a  little  while 
after  I  was  born." 

"  And  your  mother — ? 

" — Lives  with  grandmother,  at  that  house  you  see  there 


The  Poacher  121 

through  the  large  trees. — And  what  are  you  going  to  do 
with  yourself  ?  Will  you  come  home  with  me  ?  and  I'll 
tell  my  mother  all  you  have  told  me,  and  she  is  very  kind, 
and  will  write  to  your  friends." 

"  No,  no  ;  you  must  not  do  that ;  I  am  going  to  seek 
for  employment." 

*'  Why,  what  can  you  do  ? " 

"  I  hardly  know,"  replied  Joey ;  "  but  I  can 
work,  and  am  willing  to  work,  so  I  hope  I  shall  not 
starve." 

With  such  conversation  they  continued  their  way,  until 
the  little  girl  said.  "  There  is  my  school,  so  now  I  must 
wish  you  good-bye." 

"  Good-bye  5  I  shall  not  forget  you,"  replied  Joey, 
"  although  we  may  never  meet  again."  Tears  stood  in 
the  eyes  of  our  hero,  as  they  reluctantly  unclasped  their 
hands  and  parted. 

Joey,  once  more  left  alone,  now  meditated  what  was  the 
best  course  for  him  to  pursue.  The  little  Emma's  words, 
"  Not  young  gentlemen  dressed  as  you  are,"  reminded  him 
of  the  remarks  and  suspicions  which  must  ensue  if  he  did 
not  alter  his  attire.  This  he  resolved  to  do  immediately ; 
the  only  idea  which  had  presented  itself  to  his  mind  was, 
if  possible,  to  find  some  means  of  getting  back  to  Captain 
O'Donahue,  who,  he  was  sure,  would  receive  him,  if  he 
satisfied  him  that  it  was  not  safe  for  him  to  remain  in 
England ;  but,  then,  must  he  confess  to  him  the  truth  or 
not  ?  On  this  point  our  hero  was  not  decided,  so  he  put 
ofF  the  solution  of  it  till  another  opportunity.  A  slop 
warehouse  now  attracted  his  attention ;  he  looked  into  the 
door  after  having  examined  the  articles  outside,  and  seeing 
that  a  sailor  boy  was  bargaining  for  some  clothes,  he  went 
in  as  if  waiting  to  be  served,  but,  in  fact,  more  to  ascertain 
the  value  of  the  articles  which  he  wished  to  purchase. 
The  sailor  had  cheapened  a  red  frock  and  pair  of  blue 
trousers,  and  at  last  obtained  them  from  the  Jew  for  14s. 
Joey  argued  that,  as  he  was  much  smaller  than  the  lad,  he 
ought  to  pay  less  j  he  asked  for  the  same  articles,  but  the 


122  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

Jew,  who  had  scanned  in  his  own  mind  the  suit  of  clothes 
which  Joey  had  on,  argued  that  he  ought  to  pay  more. 
Joey  was,  however,  firm,  and  about  to  leave  the  shop, 
when  the  Jew  called  him  back,  and,  after  much  haggling, 
Joey  obtained  the  dress  for  I2s.  Having  paid  for  the 
clothes,  Joey  begged  permission  to  be  permitted  to  retire 
to  the  back  shop  and  put  them  on,  to  ascertain  if  they 
fitted  him,  to  which  the  Jew  consented.  A  Jew  asks  no 
questions  when  a  penny  is  to  be  turned ;  who  Joey  was, 
he  cared  little ;  his  first  object  was  to  sell  him  the  clothes, 
and  having  so  done  he  hoped  to  make  another  penny  by 
obtaining  those  of  Joey  at  a  moderate  price.  Perceiving 
that  our  hero  was  putting  his  own  clothes,  which  he  had 
taken  off,  into  a  bundle,  the  Jew  asked  him  whether  he 
would  sell  them,  and  Joey  immediately  agreed ;  but  the 
price  offered  by  the  Jew  was  so  small,  that  they  were 
returned  to  the  bundle,  and  once  more  Joey  was  leaving 
the  shop,  when  the  Jew  at  last  offered  to  return  to  him 
the  money  he  had  paid  for  the  sailor's  dress,  and  take  his 
own  clothes  in  exchange,  provided  that  Joey  would  also 
exchange  his  hat  for  one  of  tarpaulin,  which  would  be 
more  fitting  to  his  present  costume.  To  this  our  hero 
consented,  and  thus  was  the  bargain  concluded  without 
Joey  having  parted  with  any  of  his  small  stock  of  ready 
money.  No  one  who  had  only  seen  him  dressed  as  when 
he  quitted  the  school,  would  have  easily  recognised  Joey 
in  his  new  attire.  Joey  sallied  forth  from  the  shop  with 
his  bundle  under  his  arm,  intending  to  look  out  for  a  break- 
fast, for  he  was  very  hungry.  Turning  his  head  right  and 
left  to  discover  some  notice  of  where  provender  might  be 
obtained,  he  observed  the  sailor  lad,  who  had  been  in  the 
shop  when  he  went  in,  with  his  new  purchase  under  his 
arm,  looking  very  earnestly  at  some  prints  in  a  shop 
window  ;  Joey  ranged  up  alongside  of  him,  and  inquired 
of  him  where  he  could  get  something  to  eat ;  the  lad 
turned  round,  stared,  and,  after  a  while,  cried,  "  Well, 
now,  you're  the  young  gentleman  chap  that  came  into  the 
shop  •,  I  say,  arn't  you  after  a  rig,   eh  ?  given  them  leg 


The  Poacher  123 

bail  I'll  swear.  No  consarn  of  mine,  old  fellow.  Come 
along,  I'll  show  you." 

Joey  walked  by  his  new  acquaintance  a  few  yards, 
when  the  lad  turned  to  him,  "  I  say,  did  your  master 
whop  you  much  ? " 

"  No,"  replied  Joey. 

"  Well,  then,  that's  more  than  I  can  say  of  mine,  for  he 
was  at  it  all  day.  Hold  out  your  right  hand,  now  your 
left,"  continued  he,  mimicking;  "My  eyes!  how  it  used 
to  sting.  I  don't  think  I  should  mind  it  much  now,"  con- 
tinued the  lad,  turning  up  his  hand  ;  "  it's  a  little  harder 
than  it  was  then.  Here's  the  shop,  come  in  ;  if  you 
haven't  no  money  I'll  give  you  a  breakfast." 

The  lad  took  his  seat  on  one  side  of  a  narrow  table,  Joey 
on  the  other,  and  his  new  acquaintance  called  for  two  pints 
of  tea,  a  twopenny  loaf,  and  two  penny  bits  of  cheese, 
The  loaf  was  divided  between  them,  and  with  their  portion 
of  cheese  and  pint  of  tea  each,  they  made  a  good  breakfast. 
As  soon  as  it  was  over,  the  young  sailor  said  to  Joey, 
"  Now  what  are  you  going  arter  ;  do  you  mean  to  ship  ?  " 

"  I  want  employment,"  replied  Joey  ;  "  and  I  don't  much 
care  what  it  is." 

"Well,  then,  look  you;  I  ran  away  from  my  friends 
and  went  to  sea,  and  do  you  know  I've  only  repented  of  it 
once,  and  that's  ever  since.  Better  do  anything  than  go 
to  sea — winter  coming  on  and  all ;  besides,  you  don't  look 
strong  enough ;  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  coasting 
in  winter  time ;  thrashed  up  to  furl  the  top-gallant-sail, 
when  it  is  so  dark  you  can't  see  your  way,  and  so  cold  that 
you  can't  feel  your  lingers,  holding  on  for  your  life,  and 
feeling  as  if  life,  after  all,  was  not  worth  caring  for ;  cold 
and  misery  aloft,  kicks  and  thumps  below.  Don't  you  go 
to  sea ;  if  you  do,  after  what  I've  told  you,  why  then  you're 
a  greater  fool  than  you  look  to  be." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  a  sailor,"  replied  Joey,  "  but  I  must 
do  something  to  get  my  living.  You  are  very  kind  ;  will 
you  tell  me  what  to  do  ? " 

"  Why,  do  you  know,  when  I  saw  you  come  up  to  me, 


124  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

when  I  was  looking  at  the  pictures,  in  your  frock  and 
trousers,  you  put  me  in  mind,  because  you  are  so  much  like 
him,  of  a  poor  little  boy  who  was  drowned  the  other  day 
alongside  of  an  India  ship  ;  that's  why  I  stared,  for  I 
thought  you  were  he,  at  first." 

"  How  was  he  drowned,  poor  fellow  ? "  responded  Joey. 

"Why,  you  see,  his  aunt  is  a  good  old  soul,  who  keeps 
a  bumboat,  and  goes  off  to  the  shipping." 

"  What's  a  bumboat  ?  " 

"  A  boat  full  of  soft  tommy,  soldiers,  pipes  and  backey, 
rotten  apples,  stale  pies,  needles  and  threads,  and  a  hundred 
other  things  j  besides  a  fat  old  woman  sitting  in  the  stern 
sheets." 

Joey  stared  ;  he  did  not  know  that  "  soft  tommy  "  meant 
loaves  of  bread,  or  that  "  soldiers  "  was  the  term  for  red- 
herrings.  He  only  thought  that  the  boat  must  be  very 
full. 

"  Now,  you  see  that  little  Peter  was  her  right-hand  man, 
for  she  can't  read  and  write.  Can  you  ?  but  of  course  you 
can. 

"  Yes,  I  can,"  replied  Joey. 

"  Well,  little  Peter  was  holding  on  by  the  painter  against 
a  head  sea,  but  his  strength  was  not  equal  to  it,  and  so 
when  a  swell  took  the  boat  he  was  pulled  right  overboard, 
and  he  was  drowned." 

"  Was  the  painter  drowned  too  ? "  inquired  Joey. 

"  Ha !  ha !  that's  capital  \  why  the  painter  is  a  rope. 
Now,  the  old  woman  has  been  dreadfully  put  out,  and  does 
nothing  but  cry  about  little  Peter,  and  not  being  able  to 
keep  her  accounts.  Now,  you  look  very  like  him,  and  I 
think  it  very  likely  the  old  woman  would  take  you  in  his 
place,  if  I  went  and  talked  her  over  ;  that's  better  than 
going  to  sea,  for  at  all  events  you  sleep  dry  and  sound  on 
shore  every  night,  even  if  you  do  have  a  wet  jacket  some- 
times.    What  d'ye  think  ? " 

"  I  think  you  are  very  kind ;  and  I  should  be  glad  to 
take  the  place." 

"Well,  she's  a  good  old  soul,  and  has  a  warm  heart, 


The  Poacher  125 

and  trusts  thefn  who  have  no  money  ;  too  much,  I'm  afraid, 
for  she  loses  a  great  deal.  So  now  I'll  go  and  speak  to 
her,  for  she'll  be  along-side  of  us  when  I  go  on  board  •, 
and  where  shall  I  find  you  when  I  come  on  shore  in  the 
evening  ? " 

"Wherever  you  say,  I  will  be." 

"Well,  then,  meet  me  here  at  nine  o'clock;  that  will 
make  all  certain.  Come,  I  must  be  off  now.  I'll  pay  for 
the  breakfast." 

"  I  have  money,  I  thank  you,"  replied  Joey. 

"  Then  keep  it,  for  it's  more  than  I  can  do;  and  what's 
your  name  ? " 

"  Joey." 

"Well,  then,  Joey,  my  hearty,  if  I  get  you  this  berth, 
when  we  come  in,  and  I  am  short,  you  must  let  me  go  on 
tick  till  I  can  pay." 

"What's  tick?" 

"  You'll  soon  find  out  what  tick  is,  after  you  have  been 
a  week  in  the  bumboat,"  replied  the  lad,  laughing.  "  Nine 
o'clock,  my  hearty  ;  good-bye." 

So  saying,  the  young  sailor  caught  up  his  new  clothes, 
and  hastened  down  to  the  beach. 

The  room  was  crowded  with  seamen  and  women,  but 
they  were  too  busy  talking  and  laughing  to  pay  any  atten- 
tion to  Joey  and  his  comrade.  Our  little  hero  sat  some 
little  time  at  the  table  after  his  new  acquaintance  had  left, 
and  then  walked  out  into  the  street,  telling  the  people  of 
the  house  that  he  was  coming  back  again,  and  requesting 
them  to  take  care  of  his  bundle. 

"  You'll  find  it  here,  my  little  fellow,  all  right  when 
you  ask  for  it,"  said  the  woman  at  the  bar,  who  took  it 
inside  and  put  it  away  under  the  counter. 

Joey  went  out  with  his  mind  more  at  ease.  The  nature 
of  his  new  employment,  should  he  succeed  in  obtaining  it, 
he  could  scarcely  comprehend,  but  still  it  appeared  to  him 
one  that  he  could  accomplish.  He  amused  himself  walking 
down  the  streets,  watching  the  movements  of  the  passers- 
by,  the  watermen  in  their  wherries,  and  the  people  on 


126  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

board  of  the  vessels  which  were  lying  off  in  the  stream. 
It  was  a  busy  and  animating  sight.  As  he  was  lolling  at 
the  landing-place,  a  boat  came  on  shore,  which,  from  the 
description  given  by  his  young  sailor  friend,  he  was  con- 
vinced was  a  bumboat  ;  it  had  all  the  articles  described  by 
him,  as  well  as  many  others,  such  as  porter  in  bottles,  a 
cask  probably  containing  beer,  leeks,  onions,  and  many 
other  heterogeneous  matters  ;  and,  moreover,  there  was  a 
fat  woman  seated  in  the  stern. 

The  waterman  shoved  in  with  his  boat-hook,  and  the 
wherry  grounded.  The  fat  personage  got  out,  and  the 
waterman  handed  to  her  a  basket,  a  long-book,  and  several 
other  articles,  which  she  appeared  to  consider  indispen- 
sable ;  among  others,  a  bundle  which  looked  like  dirty 
linen  for  the  wash. 

"Dear  me!  how  shall  I  get  up  all  these  things?" 
exclaimed  the  woman  ;  "  and,  William,  you  can't  leave 
the  boat,  and  there's  nobody  here  to  help  me." 

"  I'll  help  you,"  said  Joey,  coming  down  the  steps  ; 
"  what  shall  I  carry  for  you  ?  " 

"Well,  you  are  a  good,  kind  boy,"  replied  she;  "can 
you  carry  that  bundle  ?  I'll  manage  all  the  rest." 

Joey  tossed  the  bundle  on  his  shoulder  in  a  moment. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  strong  little  chap,"  said  the  water- 
man. 

"  He  is  a  very  nice  little  fellow,  and  a  kind  one.  Now, 
come  along,  and  I'll  not  forget  you." 

Joey  followed  with  the  bundle,  until  they  arrived  at  a 
narrow  door  not  eighty  yards  from  the  landing-place,  and 
the  woman  asked  him  if  he  would  carry  it  upstairs  to  the 
first  floor,  which  he  did. 

"  Do  you  want  me  any  more  ? "  said  Joey,  setting  down 
the  bundle. 

"No,  dear,  no;  but  I  must  give  you  something  for 
your  trouble.     What  do  you  expect  ?  " 

"Nothing  at  all,"  replied  Joey;  "and  I  shall  not  take 
anything ;  you're  very  welcome  ;  good-bye ; "  and  so 
saying,   Joey   walked   downstairs,    although    the    woman 


The  Poacher  127 

hallooed  after  him,  and  recommenced  his  peregrination  in 
the  streets  of  Gravesend ;  but  he  was  soon  tired  of 
walking  on  the  pavement,  which  was  none  of  the  best,  and 
he  then  thought  that  he  would  go  out  into  the  country, 
and  enjoy  the  green  fields  ;  so  off  he  set,  the  same  way 
that  he  came  into  the  town,  passed  by  the  school  of  little 
Emma,  and  trudged  away  on  the  road,  stopping  every  now 
and  then  to  examine  what  attracted  his  notice  j  watching  a 
bird  if  it  sang  on  the  branch  of  a  tree,  and  not  moving  lest 
he  should  frighten  it  away  ;  at  times  sitting  down  by  the 
road-side,  and  meditating  on  the  past  and  the  future. 
The  day  was  closing  in,  and  Joey  was  still  amusing  him- 
self as  every  boy  who  has  been  confined  in  a  school-room 
would  do ;  he  sauntered  on  until  he  came  to  the  very  spot 
where  he  had  been  crying,  and  had  met  with  little  Emma 
Phillips  -,  and  as  he  sat  down  again,  he  thought  of  her 
sweet  little  face  and  her  kindness  towards  him — and  there 
he  remained  some  time  till  he  was  roused  by  some  one 
singing  as  they  went  along  the  road.  He  looked  up,  and 
perceived  it  was  the  little  girl,  who  was  returning  from 
school.  Joey  rose  immediately,  and  walked  towards  her 
to  meet  her,  but  she  did  not  appear  to  recognise  him,  and 
would  have  passed  him  if  he  had  not  said,  "  Don't  you 
know  me  ? " 

"Yes,  I  do  now,"  replied  she,  smiling,  "but  I  did  not 
at  first — you  have  put  on  another  dress  ;  I  have  been 
thinking  of  you  all  day — and,  do  you  know,  I've  got  a 
black  mark  for  not  saying  my  lesson,"  added  the  little  girl 
with  a  sigh. 

"  And,  then,  it  is  my  fault,"  replied  Joey  ;  "  I'm  very 
sorry." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  ;  it  is  the  first  that  I  have  had  for  a 
long  while,  and  I  shall  tell  mamma  why.  But  you  are 
dressed  as  a  sailor-boy — are  you  going  to  sea?" 

"  No,  I  believe  not — I  hope  to  have  employment  in  the 
town  here,  and  then  I  shall  be  able  to  see  you  sometimes, 
when  you  come  from  school.  May  I  walk  with  you  as  far 
as  your  own  house  ?  " 


128  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,  if  you  like  it." 

Joey  walked  with  her  until  they  came  to  the  house, 
which  was  about  two  hundred  yards  farther. 

"But,"  said  Joey,  hesitating,  "you  must  make  me  a 
promise." 

"  What  is  that  ? " 

"  You  must  keep  my  secret.  You  must  not  tell  youi 
mother  that  you  saw  me  first  in  what  you  called  gentle- 
men's clothes — it  might  do  me  harm — and,  indeed  it's  not 
for  my  own  sake  I  ask  it.  Don't  say  a  word  about  my 
other  clothes,  or  they  may  ask  me  questions  which  I  must 
not  answer,  for  it's  not  my  secret.  I  told  you  more  this 
morning  than  I  would  have  told  anyone  else — I  did, 
indeed." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  little  girl,  after  thinking  a  little, 
"  I  suppose  I  have  no  right  to  tell  a  secret,  if  I  am  begged 
not  to  do  it,  so  I  will  say  nothing  about  your  clothes.  But 
I  must  tell  mother  that  I  met  you." 

"  O,  yes  ;  tell  her  you  met  me,  and  that  I  was  looking 
for  some  work,  and  all  that,  and  to-morrow  or  next  day  I 
will  let  you  know  if  I  get  any." 

"  Will  you  come  in  now  ? "  said  Emma. 

"  No,  not  now  j  I  must  see  if  I  can  get  this  employment 
promised  for  me,  and  then  I  shall  see  you  again  ;  if  I 
should  not  see  you  again  I  shall  not  forget  you,  indeed  I 
won't —  Good-bye ." 

Emma  bade  him  adieu,  and  they  separated,  and  Joey 
remained  and  watched  her  till  she  disappeared  under  the 
porch  of  the  entrance. 

Our  hero  returned  towards  Gravesend  in  rather  a 
melancholy  mood  ;  there  was  something  so  unusual  in  his 
meeting  with  the  little  girl — something  so  uncommon  in  the 
sympathy  expressed  by  her — that  he  felt  pain  at  parting. 
But  it  was  getting  late,  and  it  was  time  that  he  kept  his 
appointment  with  his  friend,  the  sailor-boy. 

Joey  remained  at  the  door  of  the  eating-house  for  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  when  he  perceived  the  sailor-lad 
coming  up  the  street.     He  went  forward  to  meet  him. 


The  Poacher  129 

"  O,  here  we  are.  Well,  young  fellow,  I've  seen  the 
old  woman,  and  had  a  long  talk  with  her,  and  she  won't 
believe  there  can  be  another  in  the  world  like  her  Peter, 
but  I  persuaded  her  to  have  a  look  at  you,  and  she  has 
consented ;  so  come  along,  for  I  must  be  on  board  again  in 
half  an  hour." 

Joey  followed  his  new  friend  down  the  street,  until  they 
came  to  the  very  door  to  which  he  had  carried  the  bundle. 
The  sailor  boy  mounted  the  stairs,  and  turning  into  the 
room  at  the  first  landing,  Joey  beheld  the  woman  whom  he 
had  assisted  in  the  morning. 

"Here  he  is,  Mrs  Chopper,  and  if  he  won't  suit  you,  I 
don't  know  who  will,"  said  the  boy.  "He's  a  regular 
scholar,  and  can  sum  up  like  winkin'." 

This  character,  given  so  gratuitously  by  his  new 
acquaintance,  made  Joey  stare,  and  the  woman  looked  hard 
into  Joey's  face. 

"Well  now,"  said  she,  "  where  have  I  seen  you  before  ? 
Dear  me  !  and  he  is  like  poor  Peter,  as  you  said,  Jim ;  I 
vow  he  is." 

"  I  saw  you  before  to-day,"  replied  Joey,  "  for  I  carried 
a  bundle  up  for  you." 

"  And  so  you  did,  and  would  have  no  money  for  your 
trouble.     Well,  Jim,  he  is  like  poor  Peter." 

"  I  told  you  so,  old  lady  ;  ay,  and  he'll  just  do  for  you 
as  well  as  Peter  did  ;  but  I'll  leave  you  to  settle  matters, 
for  I  must  be  a-board." 

So  saying,  the  lad  tipped  a  wink  to  Joey,  the  meaning 
of  which  our  hero  did  not  understand,  and  went  down- 
stairs. 

"  Well,  now,  it's  very  odd  ;  but  do  you  know  you  are 
like  poor  Peter,  and  the  more  I  look  at  you  the  more  you 
are  like  him  ;  poor  Peter  !  did  you  hear  how  I  lost  him  ? " 

"  Yes,  the  sailor  lad  told  me  this  morning." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  he  held  on  too  fast,  most  people  drown 

by  not  holding  on  fast  enough ;  he  was  a  good  boy,  and 

very  smart  indeed  ;  and  so  it  was  you  who  helped  me  this 

morning,  when  I  missed  poor  Peter  so  much  ?     Well,  it 

J.R.  1 


1 30  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  or, 

showed  you  had  a  good  heart,  and  I  love  that ;  and  where 
did  you  meet  with  Jim  Paterson  ?  " 

"  I  met  him  first  in  a  slop-shop,  as  he  calls  it,  when  I 
was  buying  my  clothes." 

"  Well,  Jim's  a  wild  one,  but  he  has  a  good  heart,  and 
pays  when  he  can.  I've  been  told  by  those  who  know 
his  parents,  that  he  will  have  property  by-and-bye.  Well, 
and  what  can  you  do  ?  I  am  afraid  you  can't  do  all  Peter 
did." 

"  I  can  keep  your  accounts,  and  I  can  be  honest  and 
true  to  you." 

"  Well,  Peter  could  not  do  more  ;  are  you  sure  you  can 
keep  accounts,  and  sum  up  totals  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  I  can ;  try  me." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  j  here  is  pen,  ink,  and  paper. 
Well,  you  are  the  very  image  of  Peter,  and  that's  a  fact. 
Now  write  down,  beer,  8d. ;  tobacco,  ^d. ;  is  that 
down  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Let  me  see  ;  duck  for  trousers,  3s.  6d. ;  beer  again, 
4d. ;  tobacco,  4d. ;  is  that  down  ?  Well,  then,  say  beer 
again,  8d.     Now  sum  that  all  up." 

Joey  was  perfect  master  of  the  task,  and,  as  he  handed 
over  the  paper,  announced  the  whole  sum  to  amount 
to  5s.  iod. 

"Well,"  says  Mrs  Chopper,  "it  looks  all  right,  but 
just  stay  here  a  minute  while  I  go  and  speak  to  somebody." 
Mrs  Chopper  left  the  room,  went  downstairs,  and  took  it 
to  the  bar-girl  at  the  next  public-house  to  ascertain  if  it 
was  all  correct. 

"  Yes,  quite  correct,  Mrs  Chopper,"  replied  the  lass. 

"  And  is  it  as  good  as  Peter's  was,  poor  fellow  ? " 

"  Much  better,"  replied  the  girl. 

"  Dear  me  !  who  would  have  thought  it  ?  and  so  like 
Peter  too  ! " 

Mrs  Chopper  came  upstairs  again,  and  took  her  seat. — 
"  Well,"  says  she,  "  and  now  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Joey." 


The  Poacher  131 

"Joey  what  ?" 

"  Joey — O'Donahue,"  replied  our  hero,  for  he  was  fear- 
ful of  giving  the  name  of  M'Shane. 

"  And  who  are  your  parents  ? " 

"  They  are  poor  people,"  replied  Joey,  "  and  live  a  long 
way  off." 

"  And  why  did  you  leave  them  ?  " 

Joey  had  already  made  up  his  mind  to  tell  his  former 
story  ;  "I  left  there  because  I  was  accused  of  poaching, 
and  they  wished  me  to  go  away." 

"Poaching;  yes,  I  understand  that — killing  hares  and 
birds.     Well,  but  why  did  you  poach  ?  " 

"  Because  father  did." 

"  O,  well,  I  see  ;  then  if  you  only  did  what  your  father 
did,  we  must  not  blame  his  child ;  and  so  you  come  down 
here  to  go  to  sea  ? " 

"  If  I  could  not  do  better." 

"  But  you  shall  do  better,  my  good  boy.  I  will  try 
you  instead  of  poor  Peter,  and  if  you  are  an  honest  and 
good  careful  boy,  it  will  be  much  better  than  going  to  sea. 
Dear  me  !  how  like  he  is,  but  now  I  must  call  you  Peter ; 
it  will  make  me  think  I  have  him  with  me,  poor  fellow  !  " 

"  If  you  please,"  said  Joey,  who  was  not  sorry  to 
exchange  his  name. 

"Well,  then,  where  do  you  sleep  to-night  ?" 

"  I  did  intend  to  ask  for  a  bed  at  the  house  where  I  left 
my  bundle." 

"  Then  don't  do  so  ;  go  for  your  bundle,  and  you  shall 
sleep  in  Peter's  bed  (poor  fellow,  his  last  was  a  watery 
bed,  as  the  papers  say),  and  then  to-morrow  morning  you 
can  go  off  with  me." 

Joey  accepted  the  offer,  went  back  for  his  bundle,  and 
returned  to  Mrs  Chopper  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour ;  she  was 
then  preparing  her  supper,  which  Joey  was  not  sorry  to 
partake  of;  after  which,  she  led  him  into  a  small  room,  in 
which  was  a  small  bed  without  curtains ;  the  room  itself 
was  hung  round  with  strings  of  onions,  papers  of  sweet 
herbs,  and  flitches  of  bacon  ;  the  floor  was  strewed  with 


1 3  2  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

empty  ginger-beer  bottles,  oakum  in  bags,  and  many  other 
articles.  Altogether,  the  smell  was  anything  but  agree- 
able. 

"  Here  is  poor  Peter's  bed,"  said  Mrs  Chopper ;  "I 
changed  his  sheets  the  night  before  he  was  drowned,  poor 
fellow  !     Can  I  trust  you  to  put  the  candle  out  ?  " 

"  O,  yes  ;  I'll  be  very  careful." 

"Then,  good-night,  boy.  Do  you  ever  say  your 
prayers  ?  poor  Peter  always  did." 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  replied  Joey  ;  "  good-night." 

Mrs  Chopper  left  the  room.  Joey  threw  open  the 
window,  for  he  was  almost  suffocated,  undressed  himself, 
put  out  the  light,  and,  when  he  had  said  his  prayers,  his 
thoughts  naturally  reverted  to  the  little  Emma  who  had 
knelt  with  him  on  the  road-side. 


Chapter  XXIII 

In  which  our  hero  goes  on  duty. 

At  five  o'clock  the  next  morning  Joey  was  called  up  by 
Mrs  Chopper  ;  the  waterman  was  in  attendance,  and,  with 
the  aid  of  Joey,  carried  down  the  various  articles  into  the 
boat.  When  all  was  ready,  Mrs  Chopper  and  Joey  sat 
down  to  their  breakfast,  which  consisted  of  tea,  bread 
and  butter,  and  red  herrings  ;  and,  as  soon  as  it  was 
finished,  they  embarked,  and  the  boat  shoved  off. 

"  Well,  Mrs  Chopper,"  said  the  waterman,  "so  I  perceive 
you've  got  a  new  hand." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs  Chopper ;  "  don't  you  think  he's  the 
moral  of  poor  Peter  ?  " 

"Well,  I  don't  know;  but  there  is  a  something  about 
the  cut  of  his  jib  which  reminds  me  of  him,  now  you  men- 
tion it.     Peter  was  a  good  boy." 

"  Ay,  that  he  was,  and  as  sharp  as  a  needle.  You  see," 
said  Mrs  Chopper,  turning  to  Joey,  "  sharp's  the  word  in 
a  bumboat.     There's  many  who  pay,  and  many  who  don't ; 


The  Poacher  133 

some  I  trust,  and  some  I  don't — that  is,  those  who  won't 
pay  me  old  debts.  We  lose  a  bit  of  money  at  times,  but 
it  all  comes  round  in  the  end ;  but  I  lose  more  by  not 
booking  the  things  taken,  than  in  any  other  way,  for  sailors 
do  pay  when  they  have  the  money — that  is,  if  ever  they 
come  back  again,  poor  fellows.     Now,  Peter." 

"  What  ?  is  his  name  Peter,  too  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  must  call  him  Peter,  William  ;  he  is  so  like 
poor  Peter." 

"  Well,  that  will  suit  me  •,  I  hate  learning  new 
names." 

"  Well,  but  Peter,"  continued  Mrs  Chopper,  "  you  must 
be  very  careful ;  for,  you  see,  I'm  often  called  away  here 
and  there,  after  wash-clothes  and  such  things,  and  then  you 
must  look  out,  and  if  they  do  take  up  anything,  why  you 
must  book  it  at  all  events.  You'll  learn  by-and-bye  who  to 
trust  and  who  not  to  trust ;  for  I  know  the  most  of  my 
customers.  You  must  not  trust  a  woman — I  mean  any  of 
the  sailors'  wives — unless  I  tell  you,  and  you  must  be  very 
sharp  with  them,  for  they  play  all  manner  of  tricks  j  you 
must  look  two  ways  at  once.  Now,  there's  a  girl  on 
board  the  brig  we  are  pulling  to,  called  Nancy  j  why,  she 
used  to  weather  poor  Peter,  sharp  as  he  was.  She  used 
to  pretend  to  be  very  fond  of  him,  and  hug  him  close  to 
her  with  one  arm,  so  as  to  blind  him,  while  she  stole  the 
tarts  with  the  other  :  so  don't  admit  her  familiarities  ;  if 
you  do,  I  shall  pay  for  them." 

V  Then,  who  am  I  to  trust  ?  " 

"  Bless  the  child  !  you'll  soon  find  out  that  j  but  mind 
one  thing — never  trust  a  tall,  lanky  seaman,  without  his 
name's  on  the  books  j  those  chaps  never  pay.  There's  the 
book  kept  by  poor  Peter ;  and  you  see  names  upon  the  top 
of  each  score — at  least,  I  believe  so  ;  I  have  no  learning 
myself,  but  I've  a  good  memory ;  I  can't  read  nor  write, 
and  that's  why  Peter  was  so  useful." 

That  Peter  could  read  his  own  writing  it  is  to  be  pre- 
sumed ;  but  certain  it  was  that  Joey  could  not  make  it  out 
until  after  many  days'  examination,  when  he  discovered  that 


1 34  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

certain  hieroglyphics  were  meant  to  represent  certain 
articles  ;  after  which  it  became  more  easy. 

They  had  now  reached  the  side  of  the  vessel,  and 
the  sailors  came  down  into  the  boat,  and  took  up  several 
articles  upon  credit ;   Joey  booked  them  very  regularly. 

"  Has  Bill  been  down  yet  ?"  said  a  soft  voice  from  the 
gangway. 

"No,  Nancy,  he  has  not." 

"  Then  he  wants  two  red  herrings,  a  sixpenny  loaf,  and 
some  'baccy." 

Joey  looked  up,  and  beheld  a  very  handsome,  fair,  blue- 
eyed  girl,  with  a  most  roguish  look,  who  was  hanging  over 
the  side. 

"  Then  he  must  come  himself,  Nancy,"  replied  Mrs 
Chopper,  "for  you  know  the  last  time  you  took  up  the 
things  he  said  that  you  were  never  told  to  do  so,  and  he 
would  not  pay  for  them." 

"  That's  because  the  fool  was  jealous  ;  I  lost  the  tobacco, 
Mrs  Chopper,  and  he  said  I  had  given  it  to  Dick  Snapper."' 

"  I  can't  help  that ;  he  must  come  himself." 

"  But  he's  away  in  the  boat,  and  he  told  me  to  get  the 
things  for  him.  Who  have  you  there  ?  Not  Peter  ;  no,  it's 
not  Peter  j  but  what  a  dear  little  boy  !  " 

"  I  told  you  so,"  said  Mrs  Chopper  to  our  hero ;  "  now, 
if  I  wasn't  in  the  boat,  she  would  be  down  in  it  in  a  minute, 
and  persuade  you  to  let  her  have  the  things — and  she  never 
pays." 

Joey  looked  up  again,  and,  as  he  looked  at  Nancy,  felt 
that  it  would  be  very  unkind  to  refuse  her. 

"Now,  what  a  hard-hearted  old  woman  you  are,  Mrs 
Chopper.  Bill  will  come  on  board  ;  and,  as  sure  as  I  stand 
here,  he'll  whack  me.  He  will  pay  you,  you  may  take  my 
word  for  it." 

"  Your  word,  Nancy  ! "  replied  Mrs  Chopper,  shaking 
her  head. 

"  Stop  a  moment,"  said  Nancy,  coming  down  the  side 
with  very  little  regard  as  to  showing  her  well-formed  legs  ; 
"  stop,  Mrs  Chopper,  and  I'll  explain  to  you." 


The  Poacher  135 

"  It's  no  use  coming  down,  Nancy,  I  tell  you,"  replied 
Mrs  Chopper. 

"  Well,  we  shall  see,"  replied  Nancy,  taking  her  seat 
in  the  boat,  and  looking  archly  in  Mrs  Chopper's  face; 
"  the  fact  is,  Mrs  Chopper,  you  don't  know  what  a 
good-tempered  woman  you  are." 

"  I  know,  Nancy,  what  you  are,"  replied  Mrs  Chopper. 

"  O,  so  does  everybody ;  I'm  nobody's  enemy  but  my 
own,  they  say." 

"  Ah  !  that's  very  true,  child ;  more's  the  pity." 

"  Now,  I  didn't  come  down  to  wheedle  you  out  of  any- 
thing, Mrs  Chopper,  but  merely  to  talk  to  you,  and  look 
at  this  pretty  boy." 

"  There  you  go,  Nancy  ;  but  an't  he  like  Peter  ? " 

"  Well,  and  so  he  is  !  very  like  Peter ;  he  has  Peter's 
eyes  and  his  nose,  and  his  mouth  is  exactly  Peter's — how 
very  strange ! " 

"  I  never  see'd  such  a  likeness  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs 
Chopper. 

"No,  indeed,"  replied  Nancy,  who,  by  agreeing  with 
Mrs  Chopper  in  all  she  said,  and  praising  Joey,  and  his 
likeness  to  Peter,  at  last  quite  came  over  the  old  bumboat 
woman  ;  and  Nancy  quitted  her  boat  with  the  two  herrings, 
the  loaf,  and  the  paper  of  tobacco. 

"  Shall  I  put  them  down,  Mrs  Chopper  ? "  said  Joey. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  replied  Mrs  Chopper,  coming  to  her  recol- 
lection, "  I'm  afraid  that  it's  no  use ;  but  put  them  down, 
anyhow ;  they  will  do  for  bad  debts.  Shove  off,  William, 
we  must  go  to  the  large  ship  now." 

"I  do  wish  that  that  Nancy  was  at  any  other  port," 
exclaimed  Mrs  Chopper,  as  they  quitted  the  vessel's  side ; 
"  I  do  lose  so  much  money  by  her." 

"  Well,"  said  the  waterman,  laughing,  "  you're  not  the 
only  one  ;  she  can  wheedle  man  or  woman,  or,  as  they  say, 
the  devil  to  boot,  if  she  would  try." 

During  the  whole  of  the  day  the  wherry  proceeded  from 
ship  to  ship,  supplying  necessaries ;  in  many  instances  they 
were  paid  for  in  ready-money,  in  others  Joey's  capabilities 


136  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

were  required,  and  they  were  booked  down  against  the 
customers.  At  last,  about  five  o'clock  in  the  evening,  the 
beer  barrel  being  empty,  most  of  the  contents  of  the 
baskets  nearly  exhausted,  and  the  wherry  loaded  with  the 
linen  for  the  wash,  biscuits,  empty  bottles,  and  various 
other  articles  of  traffic  or  exchange,  Mrs  Chopper  ordered 
William,  the  waterman,  to  pull  on  shore  to  the  landing- 
place. 

As  soon  as  the  baskets  and  other  articles  had  been  carried 
up  to  the  house,  Mrs  Chopper  sent  out  for  the  dinner, 
which  was  regularly  obtained  from  a  cook's-shop.  Joey 
sat  down  with  her,  and  when  his  meal  was  finished,  Mrs 
Chopper  told  him  he  might  take  a  run  and  stretch  his  legs 
a  little  if  he  pleased,  while  she  tended  to  the  linen  which 
was  to  go  to  the  wash.  Joey  was  not  sorry  to  take 
advantage  of  this  considerate  permission,  for  his  legs  were 
quite  cramped  from  sitting  so  long  jammed  up  between 
baskets  of  eggs,  red  herrings,  and  the  other  commodities 
which  had  encompassed  him. 

We  must  now  introduce  Mrs  Chopper  to  the  reader  a 
little  more  ceremoniously.  She  was  the  widow  of  a  boat- 
swain who  had  set  her  up  in  the  bumboat  business,  with 
some  money  he  had  acquired  a  short  time  before  his  death, 
and  she  had  continued  it  ever  since  on  her  own  account. 
People  said  that  she  was  rich,  but  riches  are  comparative, 
and  if  a  person  in  a  seaport  town,  and  in  her  situation,  could 
show  £200  or  ^300  at  her  banker's,  she  was  considered 
rich.  If  she  was  rich  in  nothing  else,  she  certainly  was  in 
bad  and  doubtful  debts,  having  seven  or  eight  books  like 
that  which  Joey  was  filling  up  for  her  during  the  whole 
day,  all  containing  accounts  of  long  standing,  and  most  of 
which  probably  would  stand  for  ever;  but  if  the  bad 
debts  were  many,  the  profits  were  in  proportion  j  and  what 
with  the  long-standing  debts  being  occasionally  paid,  the 
ready-money  she  continually  received,  and  the  profitable 
traffic  which  she  made  in  the  way  of  exchange,  etc.,  she 
appeared  to  do  a  thriving  business,  although  it  is  certain 
the  one   half  of  her   goods   were   as   much  given  away 


The  Poacher  137 

as  were  the  articles  obtained  from  her  in  the  morning  by 
Nancy. 

It  is  a  question  whether  these  books  of  bad  debts  were 
not  a  source  of  enjoyment  to  her,  for  every  night  she 
would  take  one  of  the  books  down,  and  although  she 
could  not  read,  yet,  by  having  them  continually  read  to 
her,  and  knowing  the  pages  so  exactly,  she  could  almost 
repeat  every  line  by  heart  which  the  various  bills  con- 
tained ;  and  then  there  was  always  a  story  which  she  had 
to  tell  about  each — something  relative  to  the  party  of 
whom  the  transaction  reminded  her  ;  and  subsequently, 
when  Joey  was  fairly  domiciled  with  her,  she  would  make 
him  hand  down  one  of  the  books,  and  talk  away  from  it 
for  hours ;  they  were  the  ledgers  of  her  reminiscences  ; 
the  events  of  a  considerable  portion  of  her  life  were  all 
entered  down  along  with  the  'baccy,  porter,  pipes,  and 
red  herrings  ;  a  bill  for  these  articles  was  to  her,  time, 
place,  and  circumstance;  and  what  with  a  good  memory, 
and  bad  debts  to  assist  it,  many  were  the  hours  which 
were  passed  away  (and  pleasantly  enough  too,  for  one 
liked  to  talk  and  the  other  to  listen)  between  Mrs  Chopper 
and  our  little  hero.     But  we  must  not  anticipate. 

The  permission  given  to  Joey  to  stretch  his  legs  induced 
him  to  set  off  as  fast  as  he  could  to  gain  the  high  road 
before  his  little  friend,  Emma  Phillips,  had  left  her  school. 
He  sat  down  in  the  same  place,  waiting  for  her  coming. 
The  spot  had  become  hallowed  to  the  poor  fellow,  for 
he  had  there  met  with  a  friend — with  one  who  sym- 
pathised with  him  when  he  most  required  consolation. 
He  now  felt  happy,  for  he  was  no  longer  in  doubt  about 
obtaining  his  livelihood,  and  his  first  wish  was  to  impart 
the  pleasing  intelligence  to  his  little  friend.  She  was  not 
long  before  she  made  her  appearance,  in  her  little  straw 
bonnet  with  blue  ribbons.  Joey  started  up,  and  informed 
her  that  he  had  got  a  very  nice  place,  explained  to  her 
what  it  was,  and  how  he  had  been  employed  during  the 
day. 

"  And  I  can  very  often  come  out  about  this  time,  I 


138  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

think,"  added  Joey,  "  and  then  I  can  walk  home  with  you, 
and  see  that  you  come  to  no  harm." 

"  But,"  replied  the  little  girl,  "  my  mother  says  that 
she  would  like  to  see  you,  as  she  will  not  allow  me  to 
make  acquaintance  with  people  I  meet  by  accident.  Don't 
you  think  that  mother  is  right  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  do  ;  she's  very  right,"  replied  Joey  ;  "  I  didn't 
think  of  that." 

"  Will  you  come  and  see  her  then  ?  " 

"  Not  now,  because  I  am  not  very  clean.  I'll  come  on 
Sunday,  if  I  can  get  leave." 

They  separated,  and  Joey  returned  back  to  the  town. 
As  he  walked  on,  he  thought  he  would  spend  the  money 
he  had  got  in  a  suit  of  Sunday  clothes,  of  a  better  quality 
than  those  he  had  on,  the  materials  of  which  were  very 
coarse.  On  second  thoughts  he  resolved  to  apply  to  Mrs 
Chopper,  as  he  did  not  exactly  know  where  to  go  for 
them,  and  was  afraid  that  he  would  be  imposed  upon. 

"  Well,  Peter,"  said  his  new  mistress,  "  do  you  feel 
better  for  your  walk  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  ma'am." 

"  Peter,"  continued  Mrs  Chopper,  "  you  appear  to  be 
a  very  handy,  good  boy,  and  I  hope  we  shall  live  together 
a  long  while.     How  long  have  you  been  at  sea  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  sea,  I  have  never  been  to  sea  yet,  and 
I  don't  want  to  go  ;  I  would  rather  stay  with  you." 

"  And  so  you  shall,  that's  a  settled  thing.  What  clothes 
have  you  got,  Peter  ?  " 

"  I  have  none  but  what  I  stand  in,  and  a  few  shirts  in 
a  bundle,  and  they  are  Sunday  ones ;  but  when  I  left 
home  I  had  some  money  given  me,  and  I  wish  to  buy 
a  suit  of  clothes  for  Sunday,  to  go  to  church  in." 

"  That's  a  good  boy,  and  so  you  shall ;  but  how  much 
money  have  you  got  ? " 

"  Quite  enough  to  buy  a  suit  of  clothes,"  replied 
Joey,  handing  out  two  sovereigns,  and  seventeen  shillings 
in  silver. 

"  O,  I  suppose  they  gave  you  all  that  to  fit  you  out 


The  Poacher  139 

with  when  you  left  home  ;  poor  people,  I  dare  say  they 
worked  hard  for  it.  Well,  I  don't  think  the  money  will 
be  of  any  use  to  you  ;  so  you  had  better  buy  a  Sunday 
suit,  and  I  will  take  care  you  want  for  nothing  afterwards. 
Don't  you  think  I'm  right  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  wish  to  do  so.  To-day  is  Tuesday,  I  may 
have  them  made  by  next  Sunday." 

"  So  you  can ;  and  as  soon  as  William  comes  in,  which 
he  will  soon,  from  the  washerwoman's,  we  will  go  out  and 
order  them.  Here  he  comes  up  the  stairs — no,  that 
foot's  too  light  for  his.  Well  it's  Nancy,  I  declare  ! 
Why,  Nancy,  now,"  continued  Mrs  Chopper,  in  a  de- 
precating tone,  "  what  do  you  want  here  ?" 

"  Well,  I  leave  you  to  guess,"  replied  Nancy,  looking 
very  demurely,  and  taking  a  seat  upon  a  hamper. 

"  Guess,  I  fear  there's  no  guess  in  it,  Nancy ;  but  I 
will  not — now  it's  no  use — I  will  not  trust  another 
shilling." 

"  But  I  know  you  will,  Mrs  Chopper.  Lord  love  you, 
you're  such  a  good-natured  creature,  you  can't  refuse  any 
one,  and  certainly  not  me.  Why  don't  you  take  me  in 
your  boat  with  you,  as  your  assistant  ?  then  there  would 
be  something  in  it  worth  looking  at  ?  I  should  bring  you 
plenty  of  custom." 

"  You're  too  wild,  Nancy,  too  wild,  girl ;  but  now, 
what  do  you  want  ?  recollect  you've  already  had  some 
things  to-day." 

"  I  know  I  have,  and  you  are  a  good-natured  old  trump, 
that  you  are.  Now,  I'll  tell  you — gold  must  pass  between 
us  this  time." 

"  Mercy  on  me,  Nancy,  why  you're  mad.  I've  no  gold 
— nothing  but  bad  debts." 

"  Look  you,  Mrs  Chopper,  look  at  this  shabby  old 
bonnet  of  mine.     Don't  I  want  a  new  one  ? " 

"  Then  you  must  get  somebody  else  to  give  you  money, 
Nancy,"  replied  Mrs  Chopper,  coolly  and  decidedly. 

"Don't  talk  so  fast,  Mrs  Chopper;  now,  I'll  let  you 
know  how  it  is.     When  Bill  came  on  board  he  asked  the 


140  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

captain  for  an  advance ;  the  captain  refused  him  before, 
but  this  time  he  was  in  a  good  humour  and  he  consented. 
So  then  I  coaxed  Bill  out  of  a  sovereign  to  buy  a  new 
bonnet,  and  he  gave  it  me,  and  then  I  thought  what  a 
kind  soul  you  were,  and  I  resolved  that  I  would  bring  you 
the  sovereign,  and  go  without  the  new  bonnet ;  so  here  it 
is,  take  it  quick,  or  I  shall  repent." 

"  Well,  Nancy,"  said  Mrs  Chopper,  "  you  said  right ; 
gold  has  passed  between  us,  and  I  am  surprised.  Now  I 
shall  trust  you  again." 

"  And  so  you  ought,  it's  not  every  pretty  girl  like  me, 
who  will  give  up  a  new  bonnet.  Only  look  what  a 
rubbishy  affair  this  is,"  continued  Nancy,  giving  her  own 
a  kick  up  in  the  air. 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  sovereign  to  give  away,"  said  Joey  to 
Mrs  Chopper  ;  "  I  wish  I  had  not  said  a  word  about  the 
clothes." 

"  Do  as  you  like  with  your  own  money,  my  dear,"  said 
the  bumboat  woman. 

"  Then,  Nancy,  I'll  give  you  a  sovereign  to  buy 
yourself  a  new  bonnet  with,"  said  Joey,  taking  one  out  of 
his  pocket  and  putting  it  into  her  hand. 

Nancy  looked  at  the  sovereign,  and  then  at  Joey. 
"  Bless  the  boy  !  "  said  she,  at  last,  kissing  him  on  the 
forehead  ;  "  he  has  a  kind  heart ;  may  the  world  use  him 
better  than  it  has  me  !  Here,  take  your  sovereign,  child ; 
any  bonnet's  good  enough  for  one  like  me."  So  saying, 
Nancy  turned  hastily  away,  and  ran  downstairs. 


Chapter  XXIV 

In  which  Mrs  Chopper  reads  her  ledger. 

"  Ah,  poor  girl,"  said  Mrs  Chopper  with  a  sigh,  as  Nancy 
disappeared.  "  You  are  a  good  boy,  Peter  j  I  like  to  see 
boys  not  too  fond  of  money,  and  if  she  had  taken  it  (and 


The  Poacher  141 

I  wish  she  had,  poor  thing)  I  would  have  made  it  up  to 
you." 

"  Is  the  man  she  calls  Bill  her  husband  ?  "  inquired  Joey. 

"  O,  I  know  nothing  about  other  people's  husbands," 
replied  Mrs  Chopper,  hastily.  "Now,  then,  let  us  go  and 
order  the  clothes,  and  then  you'll  be  able  to  go  to  church 
on  Sunday ;  I  will  do  without  you." 

"  What,  won't  you  go  to  church  ?  " 

"Bless  you,  child!  who  is  to  give  the  poor  men  their 
breakfast  and  their  beer  ?  A  bumboat  woman  can't  go 
to  church  any  more  than  a  baker's  man,  for  people  must 
eat  on  a  Sunday.  Church,  like  everything  else  in  this 
world,  appears  to  me  only  to  be  made  for  the  rich ;  I 
always  take  my  Bible  in  the  boat  with  me  on  Sunday,  but 
then  I  can't  read  it,  so  it's  of  no  great  use.  No,  dear,  I 
can't  go  to  church,  but  I  can  contrive,  if  it  don't  rain  in  the 
evening,  to  go  to  meeting  and  hear  a  little  of  the  word  j 
but  you  can  go  to  church,  dear." 

A  suit  of  blue  cloth,  made  in  sailor's  fashion,  having 
been  ordered  by  Mrs  Chopper,  she  and  Joey  returned 
home ;  and,  after  their  tea,  Mrs  Chopper  desired  Joey  to 
hand  her  one  of  the  account  books,  which  she  put  upon 
her  knees  and  opened. 

"There,"  said  she,  looking  at  the  page,  "I  know  that 
account  well ;  it  was  Tom  Alsop's — a  fine  fellow  he  was, 
only  he  made  such  a  bad  marriage :  his  wife  was  a  very 
fiend,  and  the  poor  fellow  loved  her,  which  was  worse. 
One  day  he  missed  her,  and  found  she  was  on  board 
another  vessel ;  and  he  came  on  shore  distracted  like,  and 
got  very  tipsy,  as  sailors  always  do  when  they're  in  trouble, 
and  he  went  down  to  the  wharf,  and  his  body  was  picked 
up  next  day." 

"Did  he  drown  himself?" 

"  Yes,  so  people  think,  Peter,  and  he  owed  me^i,  gs. 
4d.,  if  I  recollect  right.     Arn't  that  the  figure,  Peter  ? " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  replied  Joey,  "  that's  the  sum  total  of 
the  account  exactly." 

"Poor  fellow!"  continued  Mrs  Chopper,  with  a  sigh, 


1 42  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

"  he  went  to  his  long  account  without  paying  me  my  short 
one.  Never  mind ;  I  wish  he  was  alive  and  twice  as  much 
in  my  debt.  There's  another,  I  recollect  that  well,  Peter, 
for  it's  a  proof  that  sailors  are  honest,  and  I  do  believe 
that,  if  they  don't  pay,  it's  more  from  thoughtlessness  than 
anything  else  ;  and  then  the  women  coax  all  their  money 
from  them,  for  sailors  don't  care  for  money  when  they  do 
get  it,  and  then  those  Jews  are  such  shocking  fellows  ;  but 
look  you,  Peter,  this  is  almost  the  first  bill  run  up  after  I 
took  up  the  business ;  he  was  a  nice  fair-haired  lad,  from 
Shields,  and  the  boy  was  cast  away,  and  he  was  picked  up 
by  another  vessel  and  brought  here,  and  I  let  him  have 
things,  and  lent  him  money  to  the  amount  of  a  matter  of 
^20,  and  he  said  he  would  save  all  and  pay  me,  and  he 
sailed  away  again,  and  I  never  heard  of  him  for  nine  years. 
I  thought  that  he  was  drowned,  or  that  he  was  not  an 
honest  lad ;  I  didn't  know  which,  and  it  was  a  deal  of 
money  to  lose ;  but  I  gave  it  up ;  when  one  day  a  tall, 
stout  fellow,  with  great  red  whiskers,  called  upon  me,  and 
said,  '  Do  you  know  me  ? '  '  No,'  said  I,  half  frightened ; 
'  how  should  I  know  you  ?  I  never  see'd  you  before.' 
'  Yes,  you  did,'  says  he,  *  and  here's  a  proof  of  it ; '  and 
he  put  down  on  the  table  a  lot  of  money,  and  said,  *  Now, 
missus,  help  yourself;  better  late  than  never.  I'm  Jim 
Sparling,  who  was  cast  away,  and  who  you  were  as  good 
as  a  mother  to ;  but  I've  never  been  able  to  get  leave  to 
come  to  you  since.  I'm  boatswain's  mate  of  a  man-of-war, 
and  have  just  received  my  pay,  and  now  I've  come  to  pay 
my  debts.'  He  would  make  me  take  ^5  more  than  his 
bill  to  buy  a  new  silk  gown,  for  his  sake ;  poor  fellow  ! 
he's  dead  now. — Here's  another,  that  was  run  up  by  one 
of  your  tall,  lanky  sailors,  who  wear  their  knives  in  a 
sheath,  and  not  with  a  lanyard  round  their  waists ;  those 
fellows  never  pay,  but  they  swear  dreadfully.  Let  me 
see,  what  can  this  one  be  ?  Read  it,  Peter ;  how  much  is 
it?" 

"^4,  2s.  4d.,"  replied  our  hero. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  recollect  now,  it  was  the  Dutch  skipper  ; 


The  Poacher  143 

there's  murder  in  that  bill,  Peter ;  it  was  things  I  supplied 
to  him  just  before  he  sailed,  and  an  old  man  was  passenger 
in  the  cabin ;  he  was  a  very  rich  man,  although  he 
pretended  to  be  poor ;  he  was  a  diamond  merchant, 
they  say,  and  as  soon  as  they  were  at  sea,  the  Dutch 
captain  murdered  him  in  the  night,  and  threw  him  over- 
board out  of  the  cabin  window  ;  but  one  of  the  sailors 
saw  the  deed  done,  and  the  captain  was  taken  up  at 
Amsterdam  and  had  his  head  cut  off.  The  crew  told  us 
when  the  galliot  came  back  with  a  new  captain.  So  the 
Dutch  skipper  paid  the  forfeit  of  his  crime ;  he  paid  my 
bill,  too,  that's  certain.  O,  deary  me,"  continued  the  old 
lady,  turning  to  another  page.  "I  shan't  forget  this  in  a 
hurry  j  I  never  see  poor  Nancy  now  without  recollecting 
it.  Look,  Peter  ;  I  know  the  sum — £8,  4s.  6d.  exactly ; 
it  was  the  things  taken  up  when  Tom  Freelove  married 
Nancy ;  it  was  the  wedding  dinner  and  supper." 

"  What,  Nancy  who  was  here  just  now  ? " 

"  Yes,  that  Nancy,  and  a  sweet  modest  young  creature 
she  was  then,  and  had  been  well  brought  up  too  ;  she 
could  read  and  write  beautifully,  and  subscribed  to  a 
circulating  library,  they  say.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a 
baker  in  this  town.  I  recollect  it  well ;  such  a  fine  day 
it  was  when  they  went  to  church,  she  looking  so  handsome 
in  her  new  ribbons  and  smart  dress,  and  he  such  a  fine- 
looking  young  man.  I  never  see'd  such  a  handsome  young 
couple  ;  but  he  was  a  bad  one,  and  so  it  all  ended  in 
misery." 

"  Tell  me  how,"  said  Joey. 

"I'll  tell  all  you  ought  to  know,  boy;  you  are  too 
young  to  be  told  all  the  wickedness  of  this  world.  Her 
husband  treated  her  very  ill ;  before  he  had  been  married 
a  month,  he  left  her  and  went  about  with  other  people, 
and  was  always  drunk,  and  she  became  jealous  and 
distracted,  and  he  beat  her  cruelly,  and  deserted  her ;  and 
then,  to  comfort  her,  people  would  persuade  her  to  keep 
her  spirits  up,  and  gave  her  something  to  drink,  and  by 
degrees  she  became  fond  of  it.     Her  husband  was  killed 


1 44  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

by  a  fall  from  the  mast-head,  and  she  loved  him  still,  and 
took  more  to  liquor,  and  that  was  her  ruin.  She  don't 
drink  now,  because  she  don't  feel  as  she  used  to  do ;  she 
cares  about  nothing  ;  she  is  much  to  be  pitied,  poor  thing, 
for  she  is  still  young  and  very  pretty.  It's  only  four 
years  ago  when  I  saw  her  come  out  of  church,  and  thought 
what  a  happy  couple  they  would  be." 

"  Where  are  her  father  and  mother  ? " 

"  Both  dead ;  don't  let's  talk  about  it  any  more ;  it's 
bad  enough  when  a  man  drinks,  but  if  a  woman  takes  to 
it,  it  is  all  over  with  her  j  but  some  people's  feelings  are 
so  strong  that  they  fly  to  it  directly  to  drown  care  and 
misery.  Put  up  the  book,  Peter  ;  I  can't  look  at  it  any 
more  to-night  j  we'll  go  to  bed." 

Joey  every  day  gave  more  satisfaction  to  his  employer, 
and,  upon  his  own  responsibility,  allowed  his  friend,  the 
sailor  lad,  to  open  an  account  as  soon  as  his  money  was  all 
gone.  Finding  that  the  vessel  was  going  up  the  river  to 
load,  Joey  determined  to  write  a  few  lines  to  the  M'Shanes, 
to  allay  the  uneasiness  which  he  knew  his  absence  must 
have  occasioned,  Jim  Paterson  promising  to  put  the  letter 
in  the  post  as  soon  as  he  arrived  at  London. 

Our  hero  simply  said,  "  My  dear  sir,  I  am  quite  well, 
and  have  found  employment,  so  pray  do  not  grieve  about 
me,  as  I  never  shall  forget  your  kindness. — Joey  M'Shane." 
On  the  following  Sunday  Joey  was  dressed  in  his 
sailor's  suit,  and  looked  very  well  in  it.  He  was  not  only 
a  very  good-looking,  but  a  gentlemanlike  boy  in  his 
manners.  He  went  to  church,  and  after  church  he  walked 
out  to  the  abode  of  his  little  friend,  Emma  Phillips.  She 
ran  out  to  meet  him,  was  delighted  with  his  new  clothes, 
and  took  him  by  the  hand  to  present  him  to  her  mother. 
Mrs  Phillips  was  a  quiet-looking,  pleasing  woman,  and 
the  old  lady  was  of  a  very  venerable  appearance.  They 
made  many  inquiries  about  his  friends,  and  Joey  continued 
in  the  same  story,  that  he  and  his  father  had  been  poachers, 
that  he  had  been  discovered  and  obliged  to  go  away,  and 
that  he  went  with  the  consent  of  his  parents.     They  were 


The  Poacher  145 

satisfied  with  his  replies,  and  prepossessed  in  his  favour  -y 
and  as  Joey  was  so  patronised  by  her  little  daughter,  he  was 
desired  to  renew  his  visits,  which  he  occasionally  did  on 
Sundays,  but  preferred  meeting  Emma  on  the  road  from 
school,  and  the  two  children  (if  Joey  could  be  called 
a  child)  became  very  intimate,  and  felt  annoyed  if  they  did 
not  every  day  exchange  a  few  words.  Thus  passed  the 
first  six  months  of  Joey's  new  life ;  the  winter  was  cold, 
and  the  water  rough,  and  he  blew  his  fingers,  while  Mrs 
Chopper  folded  her  arms  up  in  her  apron ;  but  he  had 
always  a  good  dinner  and  a  warm  bed  after  the  day's 
work  was  over.  He  became  a  great  favourite  with  Mrs 
Chopper,  who  at  last  admitted  that  he  was  much  more 
useful  than  even  Peter ;  and  William,  the  waterman, 
declared  that  such  was  really  the  case,  and  that  he  was, 
in  his  opinion,  worth  two  of  the  former  Peter,  who  had 
come  to  such  an  untimely  end. 


Chapter  XXV 

In  which  the  biter  is  bit. 

The  disappearance  of  Joey  from  the  school  was  im- 
mediately communicated  to  M'Shane  by  the  master,  who 
could  not  imagine  how  such  an  incident  could  have  occurred 
in  such  a  decent  establishment  as  his  preparatory  seminary  ; 
it  was  an  epoch  in  his  existence,  and  ever  afterwards  his 
chronology  was  founded  upon  it,  and  everything  that 
occurred  was  so  many  months  or  weeks  before  or  after  the 
absconding  of  young  Master  M'Shane.  The  letter  had  of 
course  been  produced,  and  as  soon  as  the  schoolmaster  had 
taken  his  departure,  M'Shane  and  his  wife  were  in  deep 
council.  "  I  recollect,"  said  Mrs  M'Shane,  who  was 
crying  in  an  easy  chair — "I  recollect  now,  that  one  day 
the  boy  came  up  and  asked  me  the  meaning  of  wilful 
murder,  and  I  told  him.  And  now  I  think  of  it,  I  do  also 
remember  the  people  at  No.  1  table,  close  to  the  counter, 

J.R.  K 


146  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

some  time  ago,  talking  about  a  murder  having  been  com- 
mitted by  a  mere  child,  and  a  long  report  of  it  in  the 
newspapers.  I  am  sure,  however  (as  Joey  says  in  his 
letter),  that  he  is  not  guilty." 

"  And  so  am  I,"  replied  M'Shane.  "  However,  bring 
up  the  file  of  newspapers,  dear,  and  let  me  look  over 
them.     How  long  back  do  you  think  it  was  ?  " 

"  Why,  let  me  see ;  it  was  about  the  time  you  went 
away  with  Captain  O'Donahue,  I  think,  or  a  little  before — 
that  was  in  October." 

M'Shane  turned  over  the  file  of  newspapers,  and  after  a 
quarter  of  an  hour's  search  found  the  report  of  the 
coroner's  inquest. 

"  Here  it  is,  my  dear,  sure  enough,"  said  M'Shane. 

As  soon  as  he  had  read  it  over,  and  came  to  the  end,  he 
said,  "  Yes ;  wilful  murder  against  Joseph  Rushbrook  the 
younger,  and  £200  for  his  apprehension.  This  it  was 
that  drove  the  boy  away  from  home,  and  not  poaching, 
although  I  have  no  doubt  that  poaching  was  the  cause  of 
the  murder.  Now,  my  dear,"  continued  M'Shane,  "  I 
think  I  can  unravel  all  this  j  the  murder  has  been  com- 
mitted, that's  evident,  by  somebody,  but  not  by  Joey,  I'll 
be  sworn ;  he  says  that  he  is  not  guilty,  and  I  believe  him. 
Nevertheless,  Joey  runs  away,  and  a  verdict  is  found 
against  him.  My  dear  wife,  I  happen  to  know  the  father 
of  Joey  well  ;  he  was  a  fine,  bold  soldier,  but  one  who 
would  stick  at  nothing ;  and  if  I  could  venture  an  opinion, 
it  is,  that  the  murder  was  committed  by  Rushbrook,  and 
not  by  the  boy,  and  that  the  boy  has  absconded  to  save  his 
father." 

The  reader  will  acknowledge  that  M'Shane  was  very 
clear-sighted. 

"  That's  my  opinion,"  continued  M'Shane.  "  How  it 
has  been  managed  to  make  the  boy  appear  as  the  party, 
I  cannot  tell ;  but  knowing  the  father,  and  knowing  the 
son,  I'd  stake  my  commission  that  I've  guessed  at  the 
truth." 

"  Poor    boy  !  "   exclaimed   Mrs   M'Shane  ;    "  well,   the 


The  Poacher  147 

Commandments  say  that  the  sins  of  the  fathers  shall 
be  visited  upon  the  children.  What  can  be  done, 
M'Shane  ? " 

"  Nothing  at  present  ;  it  would  injure  Joey  to  raise 
a  hue  and  cry  after  him  ;  for,  you  see,  if  he  is  appre- 
hended, he  must  either  be  tried  for  his  life,  and  convicted 
himself,  or  prove  that  he  did  not  do  it,  which  probably 
he  could  not  do  without  convicting  his  father  ;  I  will, 
however,  make  some  inquiries  about  Rushbrook  himself, 
and  if  I  can  I  will  see  him." 

The  same  evening  the  schoolmaster  again  called  upon 
M'Shane,  to  say  that  two  persons  had  come  to  the  school 
in  the  afternoon  and  asked  to  see  him  :  that  one  of  them, 
shabbily  dressed,  but  evidently  a  person  who  was  not  of  so 
low  a  class  in  life  as  the  other,  had  accosted  him  when  he 
came  into  the  parlour  with,  "  I  believe  I  have  the  pleasure 
of  speaking  to  Mr  Slappum  ;  if  so,  may  I  request  the 
favour  to  see  my  little  friend  Joey,  whom  I  met  yesterday 
walking  out  with  the  other  young  gentlemen  under  your 
care,  as  I  have  a  message  to  him  from  his  father  and 
mother  ?  The  dear  boy  was  once  under  my  tuition,  and 
did  me  much  credit,  as  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  has  done 
you." 

Now,  the  usher  had  told  Mr  Slappum  that  Joey  had 
been  addressed  by  this  person  the  day  before,  and  the 
schoolmaster  presuming,  of  course,  that  it  was  Joey 
M'Shane,  replied — "  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  he  left  this 
house  last  night,  and  has  absconded  we  know  not  where. 
He  left  a  letter  for  Major  M'Shane,  which  I  have  this  day 
delivered  to  him,  acquainting  him  with  the  unpleasant 
circumstance." 

"  Bolted,  by  all  that's  clever  ! "  said  the  second  per- 
sonage to  the  first,  who  looked  very  much  surprised  and 
confounded. 

"  You  really  have  astonished  me,  my  dear  sir,"  replied 
the  first  person,  whom  the  reader  will  of  course  recognise 
to  be  Furness  ;  "  that  a  lad  brought  up  by  me  in  such 
strict  moral  principles,  such  correct  notions  of  right  and 


1 48  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

wrong,  and,  I  may  add,  such  pious  feelings,  should  have 
taken  such  a  step,  is  to  me  incomprehensible.  Major 
M'Shane,  I  think  you  said,  lives  at ?  " 

"  Major  M'Shane  lives  at  No.  —  in  Holborn,"  replied 
the  schoolmaster. 

"  And  the  lad  has  not  gone  home  to  him  ?  " 

"  No,  he  has  not ;  he  left  a  letter,  which  I  took  to 
Major  M'Shane  ;  but  I  did  not  break  the  seal,  and  am 
ignorant  of  its  contents." 

"  I  really  am  stupefied  with  grief  and  vexation,"  replied 
Furness,  "  and  will  not  intrude  any  longer.  Bless  the 
poor  boy  !   what  can  have  come  of  him  ?  " 

So  saying,  Furness  took  his  departure  with  the  peace- 
officer,  whom  he  had  entrusted  with  the  warrant,  which  he 
had  taken  out  to  secure  the  person  of  our  hero. 

M'Shane  heard  the  schoolmaster's  account  of  this  visit 
without  interruption,  and  then  said,  "  I  have  no  doubt  but 
that  this  person  who  has  called  upon  you  will  pay  me 
a  visit  ;  oblige  me,  therefore,  by  describing  his  person 
particularly,  so  that  I  may  know  him  at  first  sight." 

The  schoolmaster  gave  a  most  accurate  description  of 
Furness,  and  then  took  his  leave. 

As  the  eating-house  kept  by  Mrs  M'Shane  had  a  private 
door,  Furness  (who,  as  M'Shane  had  prophesied,  came  the 
next  afternoon),  after  having  read  the  name  on  the  private 
door,  which  was  not  on  the  eating-house,  which  went  by 
the  name  of  the  Chequers,  imagined  that  it  was  an 
establishment  apart,  and  thought  it  advisable  to  enter  into 
it,  and  ascertain  a  little  about  Major  M'Shane  before  he 
called  upon  him.  Although  M'Shane  seldom  made  his 
appearance  in  the  room  appropriated  for  the  dinners,  it  so 
happened  that  he  was  standing  at  the  door  when  Furness 
entered  and  sat  down  in  a  box,  calling  for  the  bill  of  fare, 
and  ordering  a  plate  of  beef  and  cabbage.  M'Shane 
recognised  him  by  the  description  given  of  him  immedi- 
ately, and  resolved  to  make  his  acquaintance  incog.,  and 
ascertain  what  his  intentions  were ;  he  therefore  took  his 
seat  in  the  same  box,  and  winking  to  one  of  the  girls  who 


The  Poacher  149 

attended,  also  called  for  a  plate  of  beef  and  cabbage. 
Furness,  who  was  anxious  to  pump  anyone  he  might  fall 
in  with,  immediately  entered  into  conversation  with  the 
Major. 

"  A  good  house  this,  sir,  and  well  attended  apparently?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  M'Shane  ;  "it  is  considered  a  very 
good  house." 

"Do  you  frequent  it  much  yourself?" 

"Always,  sir;  I  feel  much  interested  in  its  success," 
replied  M'Shane ;  "  for  I  know  the  lady  who  keeps  it 
well,  and  have  a  high  respect  for  her." 

"  I  saw  her  as  I  passed  by — a  fine  woman,  sir  !  Pray 
may  I  ask  who  is  Major  M'Shane,  who  I  observe  lives  in 
the  rooms  above  ? " 

"  He  is  a  major  in  the  army,  sir — now  on  half-pay." 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  Remarkably  well,"  replied  M'Shane  ;  "  he's  a  country- 
man of  mine." 

"  He's  married,  sir,  I  think  ?  I'll  trouble  you  for  the 
pepper." 

"  He  is  married,  sir,  to  a  very  amiable  woman." 

"  Any  family,  sir  ?  " 

"Not  that  I  know  of;  they  have  a  young  protege,  I 
believe,  now  at  school — a  boy  they  call  Joey." 

"  Indeed !  how  very  kind  of  them  !  really,  now,  it's 
quite  refreshing  to  me  to  see  so  much  goodness  of  heart 
still  remaining  in  this  bad  world.  Adopted  him,  I 
presume  ? " 

"  I  really  cannot  exactly  say  that ;  I  know  that  they 
treat  him  as  their  own  child." 

"  Have  you  seen  Major  M'Shane  lately,  sir  ? " 

"  Saw  him  this  morning,  sir,  just  after  he  got  up." 

"  Indeed !  This  is  remarkably  good  ale,  sir — will  you 
honour  me  by  tasting  it  ? " 

"  Sir,  you  are  very  kind  ;  but  the  fact  is,  I  never  drink 
malt  liquor.  Here,  girl,  bring  a  half-pint  of  brandy.  I 
trust,  sir,  you  will  not  refuse  to  join  me  in  a  glass, 
although  I  cannot  venture  to  accept  your  polite  offer." 


150  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

Furness  drank  off  his  pot  of  ale,  and  made  ready  for  the 
brandy  which  had  been  offered  him  ;  M'Shane  rilled  his 
own  glass,  and  then  handed  the  decanter  over  to  Furness. 

"  I  have  the  pleasure  of  drinking  your  good  health,  sir," 
said  M'Shane.  "  You  are  from  the  country,  I  presume  ; 
may  I  enquire  from  what  part  ? " 

"  I  am  from  Devonshire  •,  I  was  formerly  head  of  the 

Grammar  School  at ;  but,  sir,   my   principles   would 

not  allow  me  to  retain  my  situation  ;  rectitude  of  conduct, 
sir,  is  absolutely  necessary  to  the  profession  which  incul- 
cates morality  and  virtue,  as  well  as  instruction,  to  youth, 
sir.     Here's  to  our  better  acquaintance,  sir." 

"  Sir,  to  yours  ;    I  honour  your   sentiments.     By   the 

powers  !    but  you're  right,  Mr I  beg  your  pardon — 

but  I  don't  catch  your  name  exactly." 

"  Furness,  sir,  at  your  service.  Yes,  sir,  the  directors 
of  the  foundation  which  I  presided  over,  I  may  say,  with 
such  credit  to  myself,  and  such  advantage  to  the  pupils 
under  my  care,  wished  to  make  a  job — yes,  sir — of  a 
charity  ;  I  could  not  consent  to  such  deeds,  and  I  re- 
signed." 

"  And  you  have  been  in  London  ever  since  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  j  I  repaired  to  the  small  village  of  Grassford, 
where  I  set  up  a  school,  but  circumstances  compelled  me 
to  resign,  and  I  am  now  about  to  seek  for  employment  in 
another  hemisphere  ;  in  short,  I  have  an  idea  of  going  out 
to  New  South  Wales  as  a  preceptor.  I  understand  they 
are  in  great  want  of  tuition  in  that  quarter." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  replied  M'Shane  ;  "  and  they  have 
a  great  deal  to  unlearn  as  well  as  to  learn." 

"  I  speak  of  the  junior  branches  — the  scions  or  offsets,  I 
may  say — born  in  the  colony,  and  who,  I  trust,  will  prove 
that  crime  is  not  hereditary." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  luck,  sir,"  replied  M'Shane  ;  "  you 
must  oblige  me  by  taking  another  glass,  for  I  never  shall 
be  able  to  finish  this  decanter  myself." 

"  I  gladly  avail  myself  of  the  pleasure  of  your  company, 
sir." 


The  Poacher  151 

As  the  reader  is  well  aware  that  Furness  was  an  intem- 
perate man,  it  is  not  surprising  that  he  accepted  the  offer  -r 
and  before  the  second  glass  was  finished,  the  ale  and 
brandy  had  begun  to  have  the  effect,  and  he  had  become 
very  communicative. 

"What  was  the  name  of  the  village  which  you  stated 
you  had  resided  in  lately,  sir  ?  "  inquired  M'Shane. 

"  The  village  of  Grassford." 

"  There  is  something  I  recollect  about  that  village  j  let 
me  see — something  I  read  in  the  newspapers.  I  remember 
now — it  was  the  murder  of  a  pedlar." 

"  Very  true,  sir,  such  a  circumstance  did  take  place  ;  it 
was  a  dreadful  affair — and,  what  is  more  strange,  committed 
by  a  mere  child,  who  absconded." 

"  Indeed  !     What  was  his  name  ? " 

"  Rushbrook,  sir ;  his  father  was  a  well-known  poacher 
— a  man  who  had  been  in  the  army,  and  had  a  pension  for 
wounds.  There  is  an  old  saying,  sir,  of  great  authority — 
'  Bring  up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should  go,  and  he  will  not 
depart  from  it.'  I  instructed  that  boy,  sir ;  but,  alas  !  what 
avails  the  instruction  of  a  preceptor  when  a  father  leads  a 
child  into  evil  ways  ?  " 

"  That's  the  truth,  and  no  mistake,"  replied  M'Shane. 
"  So  the  boy  ran  away  ?  Yes  5  I  recollect  now.  And 
what  became  of  the  father  ?  " 

"  The  father,  sir,  and  mother  have  since  left  the  village, 
and  gone  nobody  knows  where." 

"  Indeed  !  are  you  sure  of  that  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure,  sir ;  for  I  was  most  anxious  to  dis- 
cover them,  and  took  great  pains,  but  without 
success." 

"What  did  the  people  say  thereabouts?  Was  there  no 
suspicion  of  the  father  being  implicated  ? " 

"  I  do  not  think  there  was.  He  gave  evidence  at  the 
inquest,  and  so  did  I,  sir,  as  you  may  suppose,  most 
unwillingly ;  for  the  boy  was  a  favourite  of  mine.  I  beg 
your  pardon,  sir — you  say  you  are  acquainted  with  Major 
M'Shane,  and  saw  him  this  morning  j  is  the  interesting 


152  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

little  boy  you  speak  of  as  under  his  protection  now  at  home 
or  still  at  school  ? " 

"  I  really  cannot  positively  say,"  replied  M'Shane  •,  "  but 
this  is  not  holiday-time.  Come,  sir,  we  must  not  part  yet ; 
your  conversation  is  too  interesting.  You  must  allow  me 
to  call  for  some  more  brandy ;  poor  as  I  am,  I  must  treat 
myself  and  you  too.  I  wish  I  knew  where  I  could  pick 
up  a  little  money  ;  for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  cash  begins 
to  run  low." 

Furness  was  now  more  than  half-drunk.  "Well,  sir," 
said  he,  "I  have  known  money  picked  up  without  any 
difficulty  j  for  instance,  now,  suppose  we  should  fall  in 
with  this  young  rascal  who  committed  the  murder ;  there 
is  ^200  offered  for  his  apprehension  and  conviction." 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  muttered  M'Shane  ;  "  the  infernal 
scoundrel !  I  suspect  that  you  will  find  him  where  you 
are  going  to,  Mr  Furbish  ;  he's  got  that  far  by  this  time." 

"  Between  you  and  I,  I  think  not,  sir.  My  name  is 
Furness,  sir — I  beg  your  pardon — not  Furbish." 

"  Why,  you  do  not  think  he  would  be  such  a  fool  as  to 
remain  in  the  country  after  such  an  act  ? " 

"The  wicked  are  foolish,  sir,  as  well  as  others,"  replied 
Furness,  putting  his  finger  to  his  nose,  and  looking  very 
knowingly. 

"That's  truth,  sir.  Help  yourself;  you  drink  nothing. 
Excuse  me  one  minute ;  I'll  be  back  directly." 

M'Shane  left  the  box  for  a  few  minutes  to  explain  to  his 
wife  what  he  was  about,  and  to  give  time  to  the  liquor  to 
operate  upon  Furness.  As  he  expected,  he  found,  on  his 
return,  that  Furness  had  finished  his  glass,  and  was  more 
tipsy  than  when  he  left  him. 

The  conversation  was  renewed,  and  M'Shane  again 
pleading  his  poverty,  and  his  wish  to  obtain  money,  brought 
out  the  proposal  of  Furness,  who  informed  him  that  he  had 
recognised  the  protege  of  Major  M'Shane  to  be  the  identical 
Joseph  Rushbrook ;  that  the  boy  had  absconded  from  the 
school,  and  was  concealed  in  the  house.  He  concluded  by 
observing  to  M'Shane,  that,  as  he  was  so  intimate  with  the 


The  Poacher  153 

Major,  it  would  be  very  easy  for  him  to  ascertain  the  fact, 
and  offered  him  £50  as  his  share  of  the  reward,  if  he  would 
assist  him  in  the  boy's  capture.  It  was  lucky  for  Furness 
that  M'Shane  was  surrounded  by  others,  or  in  all  probability 
there  would  have  been  another  murder  committed.  The 
Major,  however,  said  he  would  think  of  it,  and  fell  back 
in  deep  thought ;  what  he  was  thinking  of  was,  what  he 
should  do  to  punish  Furness.  At  last  an  idea  came  into 
his  head ;  the  rascal  was  drunk,  and  he  proposed  that  they 
should  go  to  another  house,  where  they  might  find  the 
Major,  and  he  would  present  him.  Furness  consented,  and 
reeled  out  of  the  box  j  M'Shane,  although  he  would  as 
soon  have  touched  a  viper,  controlled  himself  sufficiently  to 
give  Furness  his  arm,  and  leading  him  down  by  two  or 
three  back  courts,  he  took  him  into  an  ale-house,  where 
there  was  a  rendezvous  for  enlisting  marines  for  the  navy. 
As  soon  as  they  were  seated,  and  had  liquor  before  them, 
M'Shane  spoke  to  the  sergeant,  tipped  him  a  guinea,  and 
said  he  had  a  good  recruit  for  him,  if  he  could  be  persuaded 
to  enlist.  He  then  introduced  the  sergeant  as  the  Major, 
and  advised  Furness  to  pretend  to  agree  with  him  in  every- 
thing. The  sergeant  told  long  stories,  clapped  Furness, 
who  was  now  quite  intoxicated,  on  the  back,  called  him  a 
jolly  fellow,  and  asked  him  to  enlist.  "  Say  '  yes '  to  please 
him,"  said  M'Shane  in  his  ear.  Furness  did  so,  received 
the  shilling,  and  when  he  came  to  his  senses  the  next  day, 
found  his  friend  had  disappeared,  and  that  he  was  under 
an  escort  for  Portsmouth.  All  remonstrances  were  unavail- 
ing j  M'Shane  had  fee'd  the  sergeant,  and  had  promised 
him  a  higher  fee  not  to  let  Furness  off;  and  the  latter, 
having  but  a  few  shillings  in  his  pocket,  was  compelled  to 
submit  to  his  fate. 


154  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

Chapter  XXVI 

In  which  our  hero  again  falls  in  with  an  old  acquaintance. 

For  nearly  two  years  Joey  had  filled  his  situation  as 
chancellor  of  the  exchequer  to  Mrs  Chopper.  He 
certainly  did  not  feel  himself  always  in  the  humour  or 
the  disposition  for  business,  especially  during  the  hard 
winter  months,  when,  seated  almost  immovably  in  the  boat 
during  the  best  portion  of  the  day,  he  would  find  his 
fingers  so  completely  dead,  that  he  could  not  hold  his 
pen.  But  there  is  no  situation,  under  any  of  the  powers 
that  be,  that  has  not  some  drawback.  People  may  say 
that  a  sinecure  is  one  that  has  not  its  disadvantages ;  but 
such  is  not  the  case — there  is  the  disgrace  of  holding 
it.  At  all  events,  Joey's  place  was  no  sinecure,  for  he 
was  up  early,  and  was  employed  the  whole  of  the  day. 

Nancy,  the  young  woman  we  have  introduced  to  our 
readers,  had  contracted  a  great  regard  for  our  hero,  ever 
since  his  offering  her  his  money,  and  Joey  was  equally 
partial  to  her,  for  she  possessed  a  warm  heart  and  much 
good  feeling ;  she  would  very  often  run  upstairs  into 
Mrs  Chopper's  room,  to  talk  with  the  old  lady  and  to 
see  Joey,  and  would  then  take  out  her  thimble  and  needle, 
examine  his  clothes,  and  make  the  necessary  repairs. 

"  I  saw  you  walking  with  little  Emma  Phillips,  Peter," 
said  Nancy ;  "  where  did  you  come  to  know  her  ? " 

"  I  met  her  in  the  road  the  day  that  I  came  down  to 
Gravesend." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure !  and  do  you  speak  to  every  young 
lady  you  chance  to  meet  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  was  unhappy,  and  she  was  very  kind  to 
me. 

"  She's  a  very  sweet  child,  or  rather,  I  can  only  say 
that  she  was,  when  I  knew  her." 

"  "When  did  you  know  her  ? " 

"  Four  or  five  years  ago  ;  I  lived  for  a  short  time  with 
Mrs  Phillips ;  that  was  when  I  was  a  good  girl." 


The  Poacher  155 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Nancy,"  said  Mrs  Chopper,  shaking  her 
head. 

"  Why  ain't  you  good  now,  Nancy  ? "  replied  Joey. 

"  Because- "  said  Nancy. 

"  Because  why  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  not  good,"  replied  the  girl ;  "  and  now, 
Peter,  don't  ask  any  more  questions,  or  you'll  make  me 
cry.  Heigho !  I  think  crying  very  pleasant  now  and 
then ;  one's  heart  feels  fresher,  like  flowers  after  the 
rain.     Peter,  where  are  your  father  and  mother  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,  I  left  them  at  home." 

"  You  left  them  at  home  !  but  do  you  never  hear  from 
them  ?  do  you  never  write  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  But,  why  not  ?  I  am  sure  they  have  brought  you  up 
well.     They  must  be  very  good  people — are  they  not  ? " 

Joey  could  not  answer  5  how  could  he  say  that  his 
father  was  a  good  man  after  what  had  passed  ? 

"  You  don't  answer  me,  Peter  ;  don't  you  love  your 
father  and  mother  dearly  ? " 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  do ;  but  I  must  not  write  to  them." 

"  Well,  I  must  say  there  is  something  about  Peter  and 
his  parents  which  I  cannot  understand,  and  which  I  have 
often  tried  to  make  him  tell,  and  he  will  not,"  said  Mrs 
Chopper.  "Poaching  ain't  such  a  great  crime,  especially 
in  a  boy.  I  can't  see  why  he  should  not  write  to  his 
father  and  mother,  at  all  events.  I  hope,  Peter,  you  have 
told  me  the  truth  ? " 

"  I  have  told  you  what  is  true  ;  but  my  father  was  a 
poacher,  and  they  know  it ;  and  if  they  did  not  punish 
me,  they  would  him,  and  transport  him  too,  if  I  gave 
evidence  against  him,  which  I  must  do,  if  put  to  my  oath ; 
I've  told  you  all  I  can  tell  j  I  must  not  tell  of  father, 
must  I  ? " 

"  No,  no,  child ;  I  daresay  you  are  right,"  replied  Mrs 
Chopper. 

"  Now,  I  don't  ask  you  to  tell  me,  Peter,"  said  Nancy, 
"  for  I  can  guess  what  has  taken  place  j   you  and  your 


156  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

father  have  been  out  poaching,  there  has  been  a  scuffle 
with  the  keepers,  and  there  has  been  blood  shed ;  and 
that's  the  reason  why  you  keep  out  of  the  way.  Ain't 
I  right  ? " 

"  You  are  not  far  wrong,"  replied  Joey  j  "  but  I  will 
not  say  a  word  more  upon  it." 

"  And  I  won't  ask  you,  my  little  Peter  ;  there — that's 
done — and  now  I  shall  have  a  peep  out  of  the  window, 
for  it's  very  close  here,  Mrs  Chopper." 

Nancy  threw  the  window  open  and  leaned  out  of  it, 
watching  the  passers-by.  "  Mercy  on  us  !  here's  three 
soldiers  coming  up  the  street  with  a  deserter  handcuffed," 
cried  she.  "  Who  can  it  be  ?  he's  a  sailor.  Why,  I  do 
believe  it's  Sam  Oxenham,  that  belongs  to  the  Thomas  and 
Mary,  of  Sunderland.     Poor  fellow  !     Yes,  it  is  him." 

Joey  went  to  the  window,  and  took  his  stand  by  the 
side  of  Nancy. 

"  What  soldiers  are  those  ?  "  inquired  he. 

"  They're  not  soldiers  after  all,"  replied  Nancy  j  "  they 
are  jollies — a  sergeant  and  two  privates." 

"  Jollies  !  what  are  they  ? " 

"  Why,  marines,  to  be  sure." 

Joey  continued  looking  at  them  until  they  passed  under 
the  window,  when  Nancy,  who  had  a  great  disgust  at 
anything  like  arbitrary  power,  could  not  refrain  from 
speaking. 

"I  say,  master  sergeant,  you're  a  nice  brave  fellow, 
with  your  two  jollies.  D'ye  think  the  young  man  will 
kill  you  all  three,  that  you  must  put  the  darbies  on  so 
tight?" 

At  this  appeal  the  sergeant  and  privates  looked  up  at 
the  window,  and  laughed  when  they  saw  such  a  pretty 
girl  as  Nancy.  The  eyes  of  one  of  the  privates  were, 
however,  soon  fixed  on  our  hero's  face,  and  deeply 
scrutinising  it,  when  Joey  looked  at  him.  As  soon  as 
Joey  recognised  him,  he  drew  back  from  the  window, 
pale  as  death,  the  private  still  remaining  staring  at  the 
window. 


The  Poacher  157 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  Peter  ? "  said  Nancy  ;  "  what 
makes  you  look  so  pale  ?  do  you  know  that  man  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Joey,  drawing  his  breath,  "  and  he 
knows  me,  I'm  afraid." 

"Why  do  you  fear,"  replied  Nancy. 

"  See  if  he's  gone,"  said  Joey. 

"  Yes,  he  has ;  he  has  gone  up  the  street  with  the 
sergeant;  but  every  now  and  then  he  looks  back  at  this 
window;  but  perhaps  that's  to  see  me." 

"  Why,  Peter,  what  harm  can  that  marine  do  you  ? " 
inquired  Mrs  Chopper. 

"A  great  deal;  he  will  never  be  quiet  until  he  has 
me  taken  up,  and  then  what  will  become  of  my  poor 
father  ? "  continued  Joey,  with  the  tears  running  down 
his  cheeks. 

"  Give  me  my  bonnet,  Peter.  I'll  soon  find  out  what  he 
is  after,"  said  Nancy,  leaving  the  window.  She  threw  her 
bonnet  on  her  head,  and  ran  downstairs. 

Mrs  Chopper  in  vain  endeavoured  to  console  our  hero, 
or  make  him  explain — he  did  nothing  but  sit  mournfully 
by  her  side,  thinking  what  he  had  best  do,  and  expecting 
every  minute  to  hear  the  tramp  of  Furness  (for  it  was  he 
who  had  recognised  Joey)  coming  up  the  stairs. 

"  Mrs  Chopper,"  at  last  said  Joey,  "  I  must  leave  you, 
I'm  afraid ;  I  was  obliged  to  leave  my  former  friends  on 
this  man's  account." 

"  Leave  me,  boy  !  no,  no,  you  must  not  leave  me — how 
could  I  get  on  without  you  ?  " 

"  If  I  don't  leave  you  myself,  I  shall  be  taken  up,  that  is 
certain  ;  but  indeed  I  have  not  done  wrong — don't  think 
that  I  have." 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,  child  ;  you've  only  to  say  so,  and  I'll 
believe  you ;  but  why  should  he  care  about  you  ?" 

"  He  lived  in  our  village,  and  knows  all  about  it ;  he 
gave  evidence  at — " 

"  At  what,  boy  ?  " 

"  At  the  time  that  I  ran  away  from  home  ;  he  proved 
that  I  had  the  gun  and  bag  which  were  found." 


158  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

"  "Well,  and  suppose  you  had  ;  what  then  ?  " 

"  Mrs  Chopper,  there  was  a  reward  offered,  and  he 
wants  to  get  the  money." 

"  O,  I  see  now — a  reward  offered  ;  then  it  must  be  as 
Nancy  said  ;  there  was  blood  shed  ;  "  and  Mrs  Chopper  put 
her  apron  up  to  her  eyes. 

Joey  made  no  answer.  After  a  few  minutes'  silence,  he 
rose,  and  went  to  his  room  where  he  slept,  and  put  his 
clothes  up  in  a  bundle.  Having  so  done,  he  sat  down  on 
the  side  of  his  bed  and  reflected  what  was  the  course  he 
ought  to  pursue. 

Our  hero  was  now  sixteen,  and  much  increased  in 
stature ;  he  was  no  longer  a  child,  although,  in  heart, 
almost  as  innocent.  His  thoughts  wandered — he  yearned 
to  see  his  father  and  mother,  and  reflected  whether  he 
might  not  venture  back  to  the  village,  and  meet  them  by 
stealth  ;  he  thought  of  the  M'Shanes,  and  imagined  that 
he  might  in  the  same  way  return  to  them ;  then  little 
Emma  Phillips  rose  in  his  imagination,  and  his  fears  that  he 
should  never  see  her  again  ;  Captain  O'Donahue  was  at  last 
brought  to  his  recollection,  and  he  longed  to  be  once  more 
with  him  in  Russia;  and,  lastly,  he  reviewed  the  happy 
and  contented  life  he  had  lately  led  with  his  good  friend 
Mrs  Chopper,  and  how  sorry  he  should  be  to  part  with  her. 
After  a  time  he  threw  himself  on  his  bed  and  hid  his  face 
in  the  pillow ;  and,  overcome  with  the  excess  of  his  feel- 
ings, he  at  last  fell  fast  asleep. 

In  the  meantime  Nancy  had  followed  the  marines  up  the 
street,  and  saw  them  enter,  with  their  prisoner,  into  a  small 
public-house,  where  she  was  well  known  ;  she  followed 
them,  spoke  a  few  kind  words  to  the  seaman  who  had  been 
apprehended,  and  with  whom  she  was  acquainted,  and  then 
sat  down  by  Furness  to  attract  his  attention. 

Furness  had  certainly  much  improved  in  his  appearance 
since  he  had  (much  against  his  will)  been  serving  his 
Majesty.  Being  a  tall  man,  he  had,  by  drilling,  become 
perfectly  erect,  and  the  punishment  awarded  to  drunkenness, 
as  well  as  the  difficulty  of  procuring  liquor,  had  kept  him 


The  Poacher  159 

from  his  former  intemperance,  and  his  health  had  in  conse- 
quence improved.  He  had  been  more  than  once  brought  up 
to  the  gangway  upon  his  first  embarkation,  but  latterly  had 
conducted  himself  properly,  and  was  in  expectation  of  being 
made  a  corporal,  for  which  situation  his  education  certainly 
qualified  him.  On  the  whole,  he  was  now  a  fine-looking 
marine,  although  just  as  unprincipled  a  scoundrel  as  ever. 

"  Well,  my  pretty  lass,  didn't  I  see  you  looking  out  of 
window,  just  now  ? " 

"  To  be  sure  you  did,  and  you  might  have  heard  me 
too,"  replied  Nancy  ;  "  and  when  I  saw  such  a  handsome 
fellow  as  you,  didn't  I  put  on  my  bonnet  in  a  hurry,  and 
come  after  you  ?     What  ship  do  you  belong  to  ?  " 

"  The  Mars,  at  the  Nore." 

"  Well,  I  should  like  to  go  on  board  of  a  man-of-war. 
Will  you  take  me  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  will ;  come,  have  a  drink  of  beer." 

"  Here's  to  the  jollies,"  said  Nancy,  putting  the  pewter 
pot  to  her  lips.     "  When  do  you  go  on  board  again  ?  " 

"  Not  till  to-morrow ;  we've  caught  our  bird,  and  now 
we'll  amuse  ourselves  a  little.  Do  you  belong  to  this 
place  ? " 

"  Yes,  bred  and  born  here  ;  but  we  hardly  ever  see  a 
man-of-war  ;  they  stay  at  the  Nore,  or  go  higher  up." 

Nancy  did  all  she  could  to  make  Furness  believe  she  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  him,  and  knew  too  well  how  to  succeed. 
Before  an  hour  had  passed,  Furness  had,  as  he  thought, 
made  every  arrangement  with  her,  and  congratulated 
himself  on  his  good  fortune.  In  the  meantime  the  beer 
and  brandy  went  round,  even  the  unfortunate  captive  was 
persuaded  to  drink  with  them,  and  drown  reflection.  At 
last  Furness  said  to  Nancy,  "  Who  was  that  lad  that  was 
looking  out  of  window  with  you  ?    Was  it  your  brother  ?  " 

"  My  brother  !  bless  you,  no.  You  mean  that  scamp 
Peter,  who  goes  in  the  bumboat  with  old  Mother 
Chopper." 

"  Does  he  ? — well  I  have  either  seen  him  before,  or 
some  one  like  him." 


1 60  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  or, 

"He's  not  of  our  town,"  replied  Nancy;  "he  came 
here  about  two  years  ago,  nobody  knows  where  from,  and 
has  been  with  Mrs  Chopper  ever  since." 

"  Two  years  ago,"  muttered  Furness,  "  that's  just  the 
time.     Come,  girl,  take  some  more  beer." 

Nancy  drank  a  little  and  put  down  the  pot. 

"  Where  does  Mrs  Chopper  live  ?  "  inquired  Furness. 

"  Where  you  saw  me  looking  out  of  the  window," 
replied  Nancy. 

:"  And  the  boy  lives  with  her  ?  I  will  call  upon  Mrs 
Chopper  by-and-bye." 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  he  does  ;  but  why  are  you  talking  so 
about  the  boy  ?  Why  don't  you  talk  to  me,  and  tell  me 
what  a  pretty  girl  I  am,  for  I  like  to  be  told  that." 

Furness  and  his  comrades  continued  the  carouse,  and 
were  getting  fast  into  a  state  of  intoxication ;  the  sergeant 
only  was  prudent ;  but  Furness  could  not  let  pass  this 
opportunity  of  indulging  without  fear  of  punishment.  He 
became  more  loving  towards  Nancy  as  he  became  more 
tipsy  ;  when  Nancy,  who  cajoled  him  to  the  utmost  of  her 
power,  again  mentioned  our  hero ;  and  then  it  was  that 
Furness,  who  when  inebriated  could  never  hold  a  secret, 
first  told  her  there  was  a  reward  offered  for  his  appre- 
hension, and  that  if  she  would  remain  with  him  they  would 
spend  the  money  together.  To  this  Nancy  immediately 
consented,  and  offered  to  assist  him  as  much  as  she  could, 
as  she  had  the  entrance  into  Mrs  Chopper's  house  and 
knew  where  the  lad  slept.  But  Nancy  was  determined  to 
gain  more  from  Furness,  and  as  he  was  now  pretty  far 
gone,  she  proposed  that  they  should  take  a  walk  out,  for 
it  was  a  beautiful  evening.  Furness  gladly  consented. 
Nancy  again  explained  to  him  how  she  should  manage  to 
get  Joey  into  her  power,  and  appeared  quite  delighted  at 
the  idea  of  there  being  a  reward,  which  they  were  to 
obtain ;  and  finding  that  Furness  was  completely  deceived, 
and  that  the  fresh  air  had  increased  his  inebriety,  she  then 
persuaded  him  to  confide  to  her  all  the  circumstances 
connected  with  the  reward  offered  for  our  hero's  appre- 


The  Poacher  161 

hension.  She  then  learned  what  had  occurred  at  the 
inquest — Joey's  escape — his  being  again  discovered  by 
Furness — and  his  second  escape  from  the  school,  to  which 
he  had  been  put  by  the  M'Shanes. 

"  And  his  father  and  mother,  where  are  they  ?  When 
I  think  of  them  I  must  say  that  I  do  not  much  like  to  assist 
in  taking  up  the  boy.  Poor  people,  how  they  will  suffer 
when  they  hear  of  it !  Really  I  don't  know  what  to  say," 
continued  Nancy,  biting  the  tip  of  her  finger  as  if  hesitat- 
ing. 

"  Don't  let  them  stop  you,"  said  Furness ;  "  they  will 
not  be  likely  even  to  hear  of  it ;  they  left  the  village 
before  me,  and  no  one  knows  where  they  are  gone.  I 
tried  to  find  out,  myself,  but  could  not.  It's  very  clear 
that  they're  gone  to  America." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Nancy,  who  had  put  the  questions  be- 
cause she  wished  to  give  Joey  some  information  relative  to 
his  parents  ;  "  gone  to  America,  do  you  say  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  am  inclined  to  think  so,  for  I  lost  all  trace  of 
them." 

"Well,  then,"  replied  Nancy,  "  that  scruple  of  mine  is 
got  over." 

She  then  pointed  out  to  Furness  the  propriety  of  waiting 
an  hour  or  two,  till  people  were  in  bed,  that  there  might 
be  no  chance  of  rescue  ;  and  they  returned  to  the  public- 
house.  Furness  took  another  glass  of  ale,  and  then  fell 
fast  asleep  on  the  bench,  with  his  head  over  the  table. 

"So,"  thought  Nancy,  as  she  left  the  public-house, 
"  the  drunken  fool  makes  sure  of  his  ^200  5  but  there  is 
no  time  to  be  lost." 

Nancy  hastened  back  to  Mrs  Chopper,  whom  she  found 
sitting  with  a  candle,  turning  over  the  leaves  of  one  of 
the  old  account-books. 

"  O  Nancy,  is  that  you  ?  I  was  just  sighing  over  you  ; 
here's  the  things  that  were  ordered  for  your  wedding. 
Poor  girl !  I  fear  you  have  not  often  been  to  church 
since." 

Nancy  was  silent  for  a  short  time.     "  I'm  sick  of  my 
J.R  l 


t6 2  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

life  and  sick  of  myself,  Mrs  Chopper  ;  but  what  can  I 
do  ? — a  wretch  like  me  !  I  wish  I  could  run  away,  as 
poor  Peter  must  directly,  and  go  to  where  I  never  was 
known  ;  I  should  be  so  happy." 

"  Peter  must  go,  do  you  say,  Nancy  ?  is  that  certain  ?  " 

"Most  certain,  Mrs  Chopper,  and  he  must  be  off 
directly.  I  have  been  with  the  marines,  and  the  fellow 
has  told  me  everything  ;  he  is  only  waiting  now  for  me 
to  go  back,  to  come  and  take  him." 

"  But  tell  me,  Nancy,  has  Peter  been  guilty  ?  " 

"  I  believe  from  my  heart  that  he  has  done  nothing  ; 
but  still  murder  was  committed,  and  Peter  will  be  appre- 
hended, unless  you  give  him  the  means  of  running  away. 
Where  is  he  now  ? " 

"  Asleep,  fast  asleep  ;  I  didn't  like  to  wake  him,  poor 
fellow  !  " 

"  Then  he  must  be  innocent,  Mrs  Chopper ;  they  say 
the  guilty  never  sleep.  But  what  will  he  do — he  has  no 
money  ?  " 

"  He  has  saved  me  a  mint  of  money,  and  he  shall  not 
want  it,"  replied  Mrs  Chopper.  "  "What  shall  I  do  without 
him  ?     I  can't  bear  to  part  with  him." 

"  But  you  must,  Mrs  Chopper ;  and,  if  you  love  him, 
you  will  give  him  the  means,  and  let  him  be  off  directly. 
I  wish  I  was  going  too,"  continued  Nancy,  bursting  into 
tears. 

"  Go  with  him,  Nancy,  and  look  after  him,  and  take 
care  of  my  poor  Peter,"  said  Mrs  Chopper,  whimpering ; 
"  go,  my  child,  go,  and  lead  a  good  life.  I  should  better 
part  with  him  if  I  thought  you  were  with  him,  and  away 
from  this  horrid  place." 

"  Will  you  let  me  go  with  him,  Mrs  Chopper — will 
you,  indeed  ? "  cried  Nancy,  falling  on  her  knees.  "  Oh  ! 
I  will  watch  him  as  a  mother  would  her  son,  as  a  sister 
would  her  brother !  Give  us  but  the  means  to  quit 
this  place,  and  the  good  and  the  wicked  both  will  bless 
you." 

"  That  you  shall  have,  my  poor  girl ;  it  has  often  pained 


The  Poacher  163 

my  heart  to  look  at  you  ;  for  I  felt  that  you  are  too  good 
for  what  you  are,  and  you  will  be  again  a  good,  honest 
girl.  You  both  shall  go.  Poor  Peter  !  I  wish  I  were 
young  enough,  I  would  go  with  you ;  but  I  can't.  How 
I  shall  be  cheated  again  when  he  is  gone !  but  go  he 
must.  Here,  Nancy,  take  the  money  ;  take  all  I  have  in 
the  house  ; "  and  Mrs  Chopper  put  upwards  of  £20  into 
Nancy's  hand  as  she  was  kneeling  before  her.  Nancy 
fell  forward  with  her  face  in  the  lap  of  the  good  old 
woman,  suffocated  with  emotion  and  tears.  "  Come, 
come,  Nancy,"  said  Mrs  Chopper,  after  a  pause,  and 
wiping  her  eyes  with  her  apron,  "  you  mustn't  take  on 
so,  my  poor  girl.  Recollect  poor  Peter ;  there's  no  time 
to  lose." 

"  That  is  true,"  replied  Nancy,  rising  up.  "  Mrs 
Chopper,  you  have  done  a  deed  this  night  for  which 
you  will  have  your  reward  in  heaven.  May  the  God 
of  mercy  bless  you  !  and,  as  soon  as  I  dare,  night  and 
morning  will  I  pray  for  you." 

Mrs  Chopper  went  into  Joey's  room  with  the  candle 
in  her  hand,  followed  by  Nancy.  "  See,  how  sound  he 
sleeps  ?  "  said  the  old  woman,  "  he  is  not  guilty.  Peter  ! 
Peter  !  come,  get  up,  child." 

Joey  rose  from  his  bed,  confused  at  first  with  the  light 
in  his  eyes,  but  soon  recovered  himself. 

"  Peter,  you  must  go,  my  poor  boy,  and  go  quickly, 
Nancy  says." 

"I  was  sure  of  it,"  replied  Joey.  "I  am  very,  very 
sorry  to  leave  you,  Mrs  Chopper.  Pray  think  well  of 
me,  for,  indeed,  I  have  done  nothing  wrong." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it ;  but  Nancy  knows  it  all,  and  away 
you  must  go.  I  wish  you  were  off;  I'm  getting  fidgety 
about  it,  although  I  cannot  bear  to  lose  you  ;  so  good-bye 
at  once,  Peter,  and  God  bless  you  !  I  hope  we  shall  meet 
again  yet." 

"  I  hope  so,  indeed,  Mrs  Chopper  ;  for  you  have  been 
very  kind  to  me,  as  kind  as  a  mother  could  be." 

Mrs  Chopper  hugged  him  to  her  breast,  and  then  said, 


1 64  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  or, 

in  a  hurried  tone,  as  she  dropped  on  the  bed,  "  There ; 

go,  g°-" 

Nancy  took  up  Joey's  bundle  in  one  hand  and  Joey  by 
the  other,  and  they  went  downstairs.  As  soon  as  they 
were  in  the  street  Nancy  turned  short  round,  went  to 
the  house  where  she  usually  slept,  desiring  Joey  to  wait 
a  moment  at  the  door.  She  soon  returned  with  her  own 
bundle,  and  then,  with  a  quick  pace,  walked  on,  desiring 
Joey  to  follow  her.  They  proceeded  in  this  manner  until 
they  were  clear  of  the  town,  when  Joey  came  up  to 
Nancy,  and  said,  "  Thank  you,  Nancy  j  I  suppose  we'd 
better  part  now." 

"  No,  we  don't  part  yet,  Peter,"  replied  Nancy. 

"  But  where  are  you  going,  and  why  have  you  that 
bundle?" 

"  I  am  going  with  you,  Peter,"  replied  Nancy. 

"  But,   Nancy "   replied   Joey ;    and   then   after   a 

pause  :  "I  will  do  all  I  can  for  you — I  will  work  for 
you — but  I  have  no  money,  and  I  hope  we  shall  not 
starve." 

"  Bless  you,  boy  !  bless  you  for  that  kind  feeling  !  but 
we  shall  not  starve  ;  I  have  Mrs  Chopper's  leave  to  go 
with  you  ;  indeed,  she  wished  me  so  to  do,  and  she  has 
given  me  money  for  you — it  is  for  you,  although  she  said 
for  both." 

"  She  is  very  kind  j  but  why  should  you  go  with  me, 
Nancy  ?     You  have  nothing  to  fear." 

"  We  must  not  talk  now,  Peter  ;  let  us  walk  on  ;  I  have 
more  to  fear  than  you." 

"  How  is  that  ?  I  fear  being  taken  up  for  that  of  which 
I  am  not  guilty,  but  you  have  nothing  to  fear." 

"  Peter,  dear,"  replied  Nancy,  solemnly,  "  I  do  not  fear 
for  anything  the  world  can  do  to  me — but  don't  talk  now ; 
let  us  go  on." 


The  Poacher  165 

Chapter  XXVII 

In  which  the  wheel  of  fortune  brings  our  hero's  nose  to  the  grindstone. 

When  Nancy  and  our  hero  had  proceeded  about  three 
miles  on  their  way,  Nancy  slackened  her  pace,  and  they 
entered  into  conversation. 

"  Which  way  are  you  going  ?  "  demanded  Joey. 

"  I'm  cutting  right  across  the  country,  Peter,  or  rather 
Joey,  as  I  shall  in  future  call  you,  for  that  is  your  real 
name — the  marine  told  me  it  was  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  is  it 
not?" 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  replied  Joey. 

"  Then  in  future  I  shall  call  you  so,  for  I  do  not  want 
to  hear  even  a  name  which  would  remind  me  of  the  scene 
of  my  misery  ;  and,  Joey,  do  you  never  call  me  Nancy 
again,  the  name  is  odious  to  me  ;  call  me  Mary." 

"  I  will  it  you  wish  it ;  but  I  cannot  imagine  why 
you  should  run  away  from  Gravesend,  Mary.  What  do 
you  mean  to  do  ?  I  ran  away  from  fear  of  being  taken 
up." 

"  And  I,  Joey,  do  more  ;  I  fly  from  the  wrath  to  come. 
You  ask  me  what  I  intend  to  do ;  I  will  answer  you  in 
the  words  of  the  catechism  which  I  used  once  to  repeat, 
'  to  lead  a  new  life,  have  a  thankful  remembrance  of  Christ's 
death,  and  be  in  charity  with  all  men.'  I  shall  seek  for 
service  ;  I  care  not  how  humble — it  will  be  good  enough. 
I  will  sift  cinders  for  brick-making,  make  bricks,  do  any- 
thing, as  long  as  what  I  do  is  honest." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Mary,"  replied  Joey, 
"  for  1  was  always  very  fond  of  you." 

"  Yes,  Joey,  and  you  were  the  first  who  offered  to 
do  a  kind  thing  for  me  for  a  long  while ;  I  have 
never  forgotten  it,  and  this  night  I  have  done  something 
to  repay  it." 

Nancy  then  entered  into  a  detail  of  all  that  had  passed 
between  her  and  Furness,  of  which  Joey  had  been  ignorant, 


1 66  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

and  which  proved  to  him  what  a  narrow  escape  he  had 
had. 

"  I  little  thought  you  had  done  all  this  while  I  slept,'* 
replied  Joey  ;  "  but  I  am  very  grateful,  Mary." 

"  I  know  you  are,  so  say  no  more  about  it.  You  see, 
Joey,  he  gave  me  all  your  history,  and  appears  to  believe 
that  you  committed  the  murder.  I  do  not  believe  it ;  I  do 
not  believe  you  would  do  such  a  thing,  although  your  gun 
might  have  gone  off  by  accident." 

"  No,  Mary,  I  did  not  do  it,  either  on  purpose  or  by 
accident ;  but  you  must  ask  me  no  more  questions,  for 
if  I  were  put  on  my  trial  I  should  not  reveal  the 
secret." 

"  Then  I  will  never  speak  to  you  any  more  about  it,  if 
I  can  help  it.  I  have  my  own  thoughts  on  the  business, 
but  now  I  drop  it.  It  is  nearly  daylight,  and  we  have 
walked  a  good  many  miles  j  I  shall  not  be  sorry  to  sit 
down  and  rest  myself." 

"  Do  you  know  how  far  we  have  to  go  before  we  come 
to  any  town>  Mary  ? " 

"  We  are  not  far  from  Maidstone ;  it  is  on  our  right,  but 
it  will  be  as  well  not  to  go  through  so  large  a  town  so  near 
to  Gravesend.  Besides,  some  of  the  soldiers  may  know 
me.  As  soon  as  we  come  to  a  good  place,  where  we 
can  find  a  drink  of  water,  we  will  sit  down  and  rest 
ourselves." 

About  a  mile  further  on  they  came  to  a  small  rivulet, 
which  crossed  the  road. 

"  This  will  do,  Joey,"  said  Nancy ;  "  now  we'll  sit 
down." 

It  was  then  daylight ;  they  took  their  seats  on  their 
bundles  as  soon  as  they  had  drank  from  the  stream. 

"  Now,  Joey,"  said  Mary  (as  we  shall  call  her  for  the 
future),  "  let  us  see  what  money  we  have.  Mrs  Chopper 
put  all  she  had  in  my  hands ;  poor,  good  old  woman,  bless 
her  !     Count  it,  Joey,  it  is  yours." 

"  No,  Mary,  she  gave  it  for  both  of  us." 

"  Never  mind  ;  do  you  keep  it ;  for  you  see,  Joey,  it 


The  Poacher  167 

might  happen  that  you  might  have  to  run  off  at  a  moment's 
warning,  and  it  would  not  do  for  you  to  be  without 
money." 

"  If  I  was  to  run  off  at  a  minute's  warning,  I  should 
then  take  it  all  with  me,  and  it  would  not  do  for 
you  to  be  left  without  any  money,  Mary  ;  so  we  must 
halve  it  between  us,  although  we  will  always  make  one 
purse." 

"  Well,  be  it  so  ;  for  if  you  were  robbed,  or  I  were 
robbed,  on  the  way,  the  other  might  escape." 

They  then  divided  the  money,  Joey  putting  his  share 
into  his  pocket,  and  tying  it  in  with  a  string.  Mary 
dropped  hers  down  into  the  usual  deposit  of  women  for 
bank-notes  and  billets-doux.  As  soon  as  this  matter  had 
been  arranged,  Mary  opened  her  bundle,  and  took  out  a 
handkerchief,  which  she  put  on  her  shoulders  ;  combed 
out  the  ringlets  which  she  had  worn,  and  dressed  her 
hair  flat  on  her  temples  ;  removed  the  gay  ribbons  from 
her  bonnet,  and  substituted  some  plain  brown  in  their 
stead. 

"  There,"  says  she  j  "  now,  Joey,  don't  I  look  more 
respectable  ?  " 

"  You  do  look  more  neat  and  more " 

"  — More  modest,  you  would  say,  Joey.  Well,  and  I 
hope  in  future  to  become  what  I  look.  But  I  look  more 
fit  to  be  your  sister,  Joey,  for  I  have  been  thinking  we  had 
better  pass  off  as  brother  and  sister  to  avoid  questioning. 
We  must  make  out  some  story  to  agree  in.  Who  shall  we 
say  that  we  are  (as  we  dare  not  say  who  we  really  are)  ? 
I  am  looking  out  for  service,  and  so  are  you,  that's  very 
clear  j  father  and  mother  are  both  dead  ;  father  was  a 
baker.  That's  all  true,  as  far  as  relates  to  me :  and  as  you 
are  my  brother,  why  you  must  take  my  father  and  mother. 
It's  no  very  great  story  after  all." 

"  But  it  won't  do  to  say  we  came  from  Gravesend." 

"  No  ;  we  need  not  say  that,  and  yet  tell  no  story  j  the 
village  we  passed  through  last  night  was  Wrotham,  so  we 
came  from  thence." 


1 68  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

"  But  where  do  you  think  of  going,  Mary  ? " 

"  A  good  way  farther  off  yet  j  at  all  events,  before  we 
look  out  for  service,  we  will  get  into  another  county. 
Now,  if  you  are  ready,  we  will  go  on,  Joey,  and  look  out 
for  some  breakfast,  and  then  I  shall  be  able  to  change  my 
gown  for  a  quieter  one." 

In  half-an-hour  they  arrived  at  a  village,  and  went  into  a 
public-house.  Mary  went  upstairs  and  changed  her  dress  ; 
and  now  that  she  had  completed  her  arrangements,  she 
looked  a  very  pretty,  modest  young  woman,  and  none 
could  have  supposed  that  the  day  before  she  had  been 
flaunting  in  the  street  of  a  seafaring  town.  Inquiries  were 
made,  as  might  be  supposed,  and  Mary  replied  that  she 
was  going  to  service,  and  that  her  brother  was  escorting 
her.  They  had  their  breakfast,  and,  after  resting  two 
hours,  they  proceeded  on  their  journey. 

For  some  days  they  travelled  more  deliberately,  until 
they  found  themselves  in  the  village  of  Manstone,  in 
Dorsetshire,  where  they,  as  usual,  put  up  at  an  humble 
public-house.  Here  Mary  told  a  different  story ;  she  had 
been  disappointed  in  a  situation,  and  they  intended  to  go 
back  to  their  native  town. 

The  landlady  of  the  hotel  was  prepossessed  in  favour 
of  such  a  very  pretty  girl  as  Mary,  as  well  as  with  the 
appearance  of  Joey,  who,  although  in  his  sailor's  dress, 
was  very  superior  in  carriage  and  manners  to  a  boy  in  his 
supposed  station  in  life,  and  she  said,  that  if  they  would 
remain  there  a  few  days,  she  would  try  to  procure  them 
some  situation.  The  third  day  after  their  arrival  she 
informed  Mary  that  she  had  heard  of  a  situation  as  under- 
housemaid  at  the  squire's,  about  a  mile  off,  if  she  would 
like  to  take  it,  and  Mary  gladly  consented.  Mrs  Der- 
borough  sent  up  word,  and  received  orders  for  Mary  to 
make  her  appearance,  and  Mary  accordingly  went  up  to 
the  hall,  accompanied  by  Joey.  When  she  arrived  there, 
and  made  known  her  business,  she  was  desired  to  wait  in 
the  servants'-hall  until  she  was  sent  for.  In  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  she  was  summoned,  and,  leaving  Joey 


The  Poacher  169 

in  the  hall,  she  went  up  to  see  the  lady  of  the  house,  who 
inquired  whether  she  had  ever  been  out  at  service  before, 
and  if  she  had  a  good  character. 

Mary  replied  that  she  had  never  been  out  at  service,  and 
that  she  had  no  character  at  all  (which,  by-the-bye,  was 
very  true). 

The  lady  of  the  house  smiled  at  this  apparently  naive 
answer  from  so  very  modest-looking  and  pretty  a  girl,  and 
asked  who  her  parents  were. 

To  this  question  Mary's  answer  was  ready,  and  she 
further  added,  that  she  had  left  home  in  search  of  a  place, 
and  had  been  disappointed  j  that  her  father  and  mother 
were  dead,  but  her  brother  was  down  below,  and  had 
escorted  her ;  and  that  Mrs  Chopper  was  an  old  friend  of 
her  mother's,  and  could  answer  as  to  her  character. 

The  lady  was  prepossessed  by  Mary's  appearance,  by 
the  report  of  Mrs  Derborough,  and  by  the  respectability 
of  her  brother  travelling  with  her,  and  agreed  to  try  her ; 
but  at  the  same  time  said  she  must  have  Mrs  Chopper's 
address,  that  she  might  write  to  her ;  but,  the  place  being 
vacant,  she  might  come  to-morrow  morning ;  her  wages 
were  named  and  immediately  accepted,  and  thus  did  Mary 
obtain  her  situation. 

People  say  you  cannot  be  too  particular  when  you 
choose  servants ;  and,  to  a  certain  degree,  this  is  true  ; 
but  this  extreme  caution,  however  selfishness  and  prudence 
may  dictate  it,  is  but  too  often  the  cause  of  servants,  who 
have  committed  an  error  and  have  in  consequence  been 
refused  a  character,  being  driven  to  destitution  and  misery, 
when  they  had  a  full  intention,  and  would  have,  had  they 
been  permitted,  redeemed  their  transgression. 

Mary  was  resolved  to  be  a  good  and  honest  girl.  Had 
the  lady  of  the  house  been  very  particular,  and  had  others 
to  whom  she  might  afterwards  have  applied  been  the  same, 
all  her  good  intentions  might  have  been  frustrated,  and  she 
might  have  been  driven  to  despair,  if  not  to  her  former 
evil  courses.  It  is  perhaps  fortunate  that  everybody  in  the 
world  is  not  so  particular  as  your  very  good  people,  and 


1 70  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

that  there  is  an  occasional  loophole  by  which  those  who 
have  erred  are  permitted  to  return  to  virtue.  Mary  left 
the  room  delighted  with  her  success,  and  went  down  to 
Joey  in  the  servants'-hall.  The  servants  soon  found  out 
from  Mary  that  she  was  coming  to  the  house,  and  one  of 
the  men  chucked  her  under  the  chin  and  told  her  she  was 
a  very  pretty  girl.  Mary  drew  back,  and  Joey  immediately 
resented  the  liberty,  stating  that  he  would  not  allow  any 
man  to  insult  his  sister;  for  Joey  was  wise  enough  to  see 
that  he  could  not  do  a  better  thing  to  serve  Mary.  The 
servant  was  insolent  in  return  and  threatened  to  chastise 
Joey,  and  ordered  him  to  leave  the  house.  The  women 
took  our  hero's  part.  The  house-keeper  came  down  at 
the  time,  and,  hearing  the  cause  of  the  dispute,  was  angry 
with  the  footman  ;  the  butler  took  the  side  of  the  footman; 
and  the  end  of  it  was,  that  the  voices  were  at  the  highest 
pitch,  when  the  bell  rang,  and  the  men  being  obliged  to 
answer  it,  the  women  were  for  the  time  left  in  possession 
of  the  field. 

"  "What  is  that  noise  below  ?  "  inquired  the  master  of  the 
house. 

"It  is  a  boy,  sir — the  brother,  I  believe,  of  the  girl 
who  has  come  as  under-housemaid,  who  has  been  making 
a  disturbance." 

"Desire  him  to  leave  the  house  instantly." 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  butler,  who  went  down  to 
enforce  the  order. 

Little  did  the  master  of  the  house  imagine  that  in  giving 
that  order  he  was  turning  out  of  the  house  his  own  son ; 
for  the  squire  was  no  other  than  Mr  Austin.  Little  did 
the  inconsolable  Mrs  Austin  fancy  that  her  dear,  lamented 
boy  was  at  that  moment  under  the  same  roof  with  her,  and 
being  driven  out  of  it  by  her  menials ;  but  such  was  the 
case.  So  Joey  and  Mary  quitted  the  hall,  and  bent  their 
way  back  to  the  village-inn. 

"Well,  Mary,"  said  Joey,  "I  am  very  glad  that  you 
have  found  a  situation." 

"  And  so  I  am  very  thankful  indeed,  Joey,"  replied  she, 


The  Poacher  171 

"  and  only  hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  get  one  somewhere 
about  here  also,  and  then  we  may  occasionally  see  some- 
thing of  one  another." 

"  No,  Mary,"  replied  Joey,  "  I  shall  not  look  for  a  situa- 
tion about  here ;  the  only  reason  I  had  for  wishing  it  was, 
that  I  might  see  you ;  but  that  will  be  impossible  now." 

"Why  so?" 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  will  ever  put  my  foot  into  that 
house  again,  after  the  manner  I  was  treated  to-day  ? 
Never." 

"I  was  afraid  so,"  replied  Mary,  mournfully. 

"No,  Mary.  I  am  happy  that  you  are  provided  for;  I 
can  seek  my  own  fortune,  and  I  will  write  to  you  and  let 
you  know  what  I  do ;  and  you  will  write  to  me,  Mary, 
won't  you  ? " 

"  It  will  be  the  greatest  pleasure  that  will  be  left  to  me, 
Joey ;  for  I  love  you  as  dearly  as  if  you  were  my  own 
brother." 

The  next  day  our  hero  and  Mary  parted  with  many  tears 
on  her  side,  and  much  sorrow  on  his.  Joey  refused  to  take 
more  of  the  money  than  what  he  had  in  his  possession,  but 
promised,  in  case  of  need,  to  apply  to  Mary,  who  said  that 
she  would  hoard  up  everything  for  him,  and  she  kept  her 
word.  Joey,  having  escorted  Mary  to  the  hall-lodge, 
remained  at  the  inn  till  the  next  morning,  and  then  set  off 
once  more  on  his  travels. 

Our  hero  started  at  break  of  day,  and  had  walked,  by  a 
western  road,  from  Manstone,  about  six  miles,  when  he 
met  two  men  coming  towards  him.  They  were  most 
miserably  clad,  neither  of  them  had  shoes  or  stockings  ; 
one  had  only  a  waistcoat  and  a  pair  of  trousers,  with  a  sack 
on  his  back  ;  the  other  had  a  pair  of  blue  trousers,  torn 
to  ribbons,  a  Guernsey  frock,  and  a  tarpaulin  hat ;  they 
appeared  what  they  represented  themselves  to  be,  when 
they  demanded  charity — two  wrecked  seamen,  who  were 
travelling  to  a  northern  port  to  obtain  employment;  but 
had  these  fellows  been  questioned  by  a  sailor,  he  would 
soon  have  discovered,  by  their  total  ignorance  of  anything 


172  Joseph  Rushbrook;   or, 

nautical,  that  they  were  impostors.  Perhaps  there  is  no 
plan  more  successful  than  this,  which  is  now  carried  on  to 
an  enormous  extent  by  a  set  of  rogues  and  depredators, 
who  occasionally  request  charity,  but  too  often  extort  it, 
and  add  to  their  spoils  by  robbing  and  plundering  every- 
thing in  their  way.  It  is  impossible  for  people  in  this 
country  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  the  assertions  of  these 
vagabonds,  and  it  appears  unfeeling  to  refuse  assistance  to 
a  poor  seaman  who  has  lost  his  all ;  even  the  cottager  offers 
his  mite,  and  thus  do  they  levy  upon  the  public  to  an  extent 
which  is  scarcely  credible ;  but  it  should  be  known  that,  in 
all  cases  of  shipwreck,  sailors  are  now  invariably  relieved  and 
decently  clothed,  and  supplied  with  the  means  of  travelling 
to  obtain  employment ;  and,  whenever  a  man  appeals  for 
charity  in  a  half-naked  state,  he  is  invariably  an  impostor  or 
a  worthless  scoundrel. 

The  two  men  were  talking  loud  and  laughing  when  they 
approached  our  hero.  As  soon  as  they  came  near,  they 
looked  hard  at  him,  and  stopped  right  before  him,  so  as  to 
block  up  the  footpath. 

"  Hilloah,  my  little  sailor  !  where  are  you  bound  to  ? " 
said  one  to  Joey,  who  had  his  common  sailor's  dress 
on. 

"  And,  I  say,  what  have  you  got  in  that  bundle  ? "  said 
the  other ;  "  and  how  are  you  off  for  brads  ?  haven't  you 
something  to  spare  for  brother  seamen  ?  Come,  feel  in 
your  pockets  ;  or  shall  I  feel  for  you  ?  " 

Joey  did  not  much  like  this  exordium ;  he  replied,  step- 
ping into  the  road  at  the  same  time — "  I've  no  money,  and 
the  bundle  contains  my  clothes." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  first,  "  you're  not  going  to  get 
off  that  way  j  if  you  don't  wish  your  brains  beaten  out, 
you'll  just  hand  over  that  bundle  for  me  to  examine ; "  and 
so  saying,  the  man  stepped  into  the  road  towards  Joey,  who 
continued  to  retreat  to  the  opposite  side. 

There  was  no  footpath  at  the  side  of  the  road  to  which 
Joey  retreated,  but  a  very  thick  quick-set  hedge,  much  too 
strong  for  any  man  to  force  his  way  through.     Joey  per- 


The  Poacher  173 

ceived  this,  and  as  the  man  came  at  him  to  seize  his  bundle, 
he  contrived,  by  a  great  effort,  to  swing  it  over  the  hedge 
into  the  field  on  the  other  side.  The  man,  exasperated  at 
this  measure  on  the  part  of  our  hero,  ran  to  seize  him  ;  but 
Joey  dodged  under  him,  and  ran  away  down  the  road  for 
a  few  yards,  where  he  picked  up  a  heavy  stone  for  his 
defence,  and  there  remained,  prepared  to  defend  himself, 
and  not  lose  his  bundle  if  he  could  help  it. 

"  You  get  hold  of  him,  Bill,  while  I  go  round  for  the 
bundle,"  said  the  man  who  had  followed  across  the  road, 
and  he  immediately  set  off  to  find  the  gate,  or  some 
entrance  into  the  field,  while  the  other  man  made  after 
Joey.  Our  hero  retreated  at  full  speed :  the  man  followed, 
but  could  not  keep  pace  with  our  hero,  as  the  road  was 
newly  gravelled,  and  he  had  no  shoes.  Joey,  perceiving 
this,  slackened  his  pace,  and  when  the  man  was  close  to 
him,  turned  short  round,  and  aiming  the  stone  with  great  pre- 
cision, hit  him  on  the  forehead,  and  the  fellow  fell  down 
senseless.  In  the  meantime,  the  other  miscreant  had  taken 
the  road  in  the  opposite  direction  to  look  for  the  gate,  and 
Joey,  now  rid  of  his  assailant,  perceived,  that  in  the  hedge 
opposite  to  the  part  of  the  road  where  he  now  stood,  there 
was  a  gap  which  he  could  get  through.  He  scrambled 
into  the  field,  and  ran  for  his  bundle ;  the  other  man,  who 
had  been  delayed,  the  gate  being  locked,  and  fenced  with 
thorns,  had  but  just  gained  the  field  when  Joey  had  his 
bundle  in  his  possession.  Our  hero  caught  it  up,  and  ran 
like  lightning  to  the  gap ;  tossed  over  his  bundle,  and 
followed  it,  while  the  man  was  still  a  hundred  yards  from 
him.  Once  more  in  the  high  road,  Joey  took  to  his  heels, 
and  having  run  about  two  hundred  yards,  he  looked  back 
to  ascertain  if  he  was  pursued,  and  perceived  the  man 
standing  over  his  comrade,  who  was  lying  where  he  had 
fallen.  Satisfied  that  he  was  now  safe,  Joey  pursued  his 
journey  at  a  less  rapid  rate,  although  he  continued  to  look 
back  every  minute,  just  by  way  of  precaution ;  but  the 
fellows,  although  they  would  not  lose  an  opportunity  of 
what   appeared    such   an   easy   robbery,   had   their    own 


1 74  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

reasons  for  continuing  their  journey,  and  getting  away 
from  that  part  of  the  country. 

Our  hero  pursued  his  way  for  two  miles,  looking  out 
for  some  water  by  the  wayside  to  quench  his  thirst,  when 
he  observed  in  the  distance  that  there  was  something  lying 
on  the  roadside.  As  he  came  nearer  he  made  it  out  to  be 
a  man  prostrate  on  the  grass,  apparently  asleep,  and  a  few 
yards  from  where  the  man  lay  was  a  knife-grinder's  wheel, 
and  a  few  other  articles  in  the  use  of  a  travelling  tinker  j 
a  fire  nearly  extinct  was  throwing  up  a  tiny  column  of 
smoke,  and  a  saucepan,  which  appeared  to  have  been  upset, 
was  lying  beside  it.  There  was  something  in  the  scene 
before  him  which  created  a  suspicion  in  the  mind  of  our 
hero  that  all  was  not  right ;  so,  instead  of  passing  on,  he 
walked  right  up  to  where  the  man  lay,  and  soon  dis- 
covered that  his  face  and  dress  were  bloody.  Joey  knelt 
down  by  the  side  of  him,  and  found  that  he  was  senseless, 
but  breathing  heavily.  Joey  untied  the  handkerchief 
which  was  round  his  neck,  and  which  was  apparently  very 
tight,  and  almost  immediately  afterwards  the  man  appeared 
relieved  and  opened  his  eyes.  After  a  little  time  he  con- 
trived to  utter  one  word — "  Water  !  "  and  Joey,  taking  up 
,the  empty  saucepan,  proceeded  in  search  of  it.  He  soon 
found  some  and  brought  it  back.  The  tinker  had  greatly 
recovered  during  his  absence,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  drank 
the  water,  sat  upright. 

"Don't  leave  me,  boy,"  said  the  tinker;  "I  feel  very 
faint." 

"  I  will  stay  by  you  as  long  as  I  can  be  of  any  use  to 
you,"  replied  Joey  ;  "  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Robbed  and  almost  murdered ! "  replied  the  man, 
with  a  groan. 

"  Was  it  by  those  two  rascals  without  shoes  and  stock- 
ings, who  attempted  to  rob  me  ? "  inquired  Joey. 

"  Yes  ;  the  same,  I've  no  doubt.  I  must  lie  down  for  a 
time,  my  head  is  so  bad,"  replied  the  man,  dropping  back 
upon  the  grass. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  exhausted  man  fell   asleep,  and 


The  Poacher  175 

Joey  remained  sitting  by  his  side  for  nearly  two  hours. 
At  last,  his  new  companion  awoke,  raised  himself  up,  and, 
dipping  his  handkerchief  into  the  saucepan  of  water, 
washed  the  blood  from  his  head  and  face. 

"This  might  have  been  worse,  my  little  fellow,"  said 
he  to  Joey,  after  he  had  wiped  his  face  ;  "  one  of  these 
rascals  nearly  throttled  me,  he  pulled  my  handkerchief  so 
tight.  Well,  this  is  a  wicked  world,  this,  to  take  away  a 
fellow-creature's  life  for  thirteen-pence  halfpenny,  for  that 
was  all  the  money  they  found  in  my  pocket.  I  thought 
an  itinerant  tinker  was  safe  from  highway  robbery,  at  all 
events.  Did  you  not  say  that  they  attacked  you,  or  did  I 
dream  it  ? " 

"  I  did  say  so ;  it  was  no  dream.** 

"  And  how  did  a  little  midge  like  you  escape  ?  " 

Joey  gave  the  tinker  a  detail  of  what  had  occurred. 

"  Cleverly  done,  boy,  and  kindly  done  now  to  come  to 
my  help,  and  to  remain  by  me.  I  was  going  down  the 
road,  and  as  you  have  come  down,  I  presume  we  are 
going  the  same  way,"  replied  the  tinker. 

"Do  you  feel  strong  enough  to  walk  now?*' 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  can ;  but  there's  the  grindstone." 

"  O,  I'll  wheel  that  for  you." 

"  Do,  that's  a  good  boy,  for  I  tremble  very  much,  and 
it  would  be  too  heavy  for  me  now." 

Joey  fixed  his  bundle  with  the  saucepan,  etc.,  upon 
the  knife-grinder's  wheel,  and  rolled  it  along  the  road, 
followed  by  the  tinker,  until  they  came  to  a  small  hamlet, 
about  two  miles  from  the  spot  from  which  they  had 
started ;  they  halted  when  they  were  fifty  yards  from 
the  first  cottage,  and  the  tinker,  having  selected  a  dry  place 
under  the  hedge,  said,  "  I  must  stop  here  a  little  while." 

Joey,  who  had  heard  the  tinker  say  that  the  men  had 
robbed  him  of  thirteen-pence  halfpenny,  imagined  that 
he  was  destitute,  and  as  he  wished  to  proceed  on  his  way, 
he  took  out  two  shillings,  and  held  them  out  to  the  man, 
saying,  "  This  will  keep  you  till  you  can  earn  some  more. 
Good-bye  now  ;  I  must  go  on." 


i  y6  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

The  tinker  looked  at  Joey.  "  You're  a  kind-hearted 
lad,  at  all  events,  and  a  clever,  bold  one,  if  I  mistake  not," 
said  he;  "put  up  your  money,  nevertheless,  for  I  do  not 
want  any.  I  have  plenty,  if  they  had  only  known  where 
to  look  for  it." 

Joey  was  examining  his  new  companion  during  the  time 
that  he  was  speaking  to  him.  There  was  a  free  and 
independent  bearing  about  the  man,  and  a  refinement  of 
manner  and  speech  very  different  from  what  might  be 
expected  from  one  in  so  humble  a  situation.  The  tinker 
perceived  this  scrutiny,  and,  after  meeting  our  hero's 
glance,  said,  "  Well,  what  are  you  thinking  of  now  ? " 

"  I  was  thinking  that  you  have  not  always  been  a 
tinker." 

"And  I  fancy  that  you  have  not  always  been  a  sailor, 
my  young  master :  but,  however,  oblige  me  by  going 
into  the  village  and  getting  some  breakfast  for  us.  I  will 
pay  you  the  money  when  you  return,  and  then  we  can 
talk  a  little." 

Joey  went  into  the  village,  and  finding  a  small  chandler's 
shop,  bought  some  bread  and  cheese,  and  a  large  mug 
which  held  a  quart  of  beer,  both  of  which  he  also  pur- 
chased, and  then  went  back  to  the  tinker.  As  soon  as 
they  had  made  their  breakfast,  Joey  rose  up  and  said — 
"  I  must  go  on  now ;  I  hope  you'll  find  yourself  better 
to-morrow." 

"  Are  you  in  a  very  great  hurry,  my  lad  ? "  inquired 
the  tinker. 

"I  want  to  find  some  employment,"  replied  Joey; 
"  and,  therefore,  I  must  look  for  it." 

"  Tell  me  what  employment  you  want.  What  can  you 
do?" 

"  I  don't  exactly  know ;  I  have  been  keeping  accounts 
for  a  person." 

"  Then  you  are  a  scholar,  and  not  a  seafaring  person  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  a  sailor,  if  you  mean  that ;  but  I  have  been 
on  the  river." 

"Well,  if  you  wish  to  get  employment,  as  I  know  this 


The  Poacher  177 

country  well  and  a  great  many  people,  I  think  I  may  help 
you.  At  all  events,  a  few  days  can  make  no  difference ; 
for  you  see,  my  boy,  to-morrow  I  shall  be  able  to  work, 
and  then,  I'll  answer  for  it,  I'll  find  meat  and  drink  for 
both  of  us ;  so,  what  do  you  say  ?  Suppose  you  stay 
with  me,  and  we'll  travel  together  for  a  few  days,  and 
when  I  have  found  work  that  will  suit  you,  then  we  can 
part?" 

"  I  will,  if  you  wish  it,"  replied  Joey. 

" Then  that's  agreed,"  said  the  tinker  ;  "I  should  like 
to  do  you  a  good  turn  before  we  part,  and  I  hope  I  shall 
be  able ;  at  all  events,  if  you  stay  with  me  a  little  while 
I  will  learn  you  a  trade  which  will  serve  you  when  all 
others  fail." 

"  What,  to  mend  kettles  and  to  grind  knives  ? " 

"  Exactly ;  and,  depend  upon  it,  if  you  would  be  sure 
of  gaining  your  livelihood,  you  will  choose  a  profession 
which  will  not  depend  upon  the  caprice  of  others,  or  upon 
patronage.  Kettles,  my  boy,  will  wear  out,  knives  will 
get  blunt,  and  therefore,  for  a  good  trade,  give  me, 
*  kettles  to  mend,  knives  to  grind.'  I've  tried  many 
trades,  and  there  is  none  that  suits  me  so  well.  And 
now  that  we've  had  our  breakfast,  we  may  just  as  well 
look  out  for  lodgings  for  the  night,  for  I  suppose  you 
would  not  like  the  heavens  for  your  canopy,  which  I  very 
often  prefer.  Now,  put  yourself  to  the  wheel,  and  I'll 
try  my  old  quarters." 

The  knife-grinder  walked  into  the  village,  followed 
by  Joey,  who  rolled  the  wheel,  until  they  stopped  at 
a  cottage,  where  he  was  immediately  recognised  and 
welcomed :  Joey  was  ordered  to  put  the  wheel  under 
a  shed,  and  then  followed  the  tinker  into  the  cottage. 
The  latter  told  his  story,  which  created  a  good  deal 
of  surprise  and  indignation,  and  then  complained  of  his 
head  and  retired  to  lie  down,  while  Joey  amused  himself 
with  the  children.  They  ate  and  slept  there  that  night, 
the  people  refusing  to  take  anything  for  their  reception. 
The  next  day  the  tinker  was  quite  recovered,  and  having 
J.R.  M 


178  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

mended  a  kettle  and  ground  three  or  four  knives  for  his 
hostess,  he  set  ofF  again,  followed  by  Joey,  who  rolled  the 
wheel. 


Chapter  XXVIII 

On  the  science  of  tinkering  and  the  art  of  writing  despatches. 

They  had  proceeded  about  two  miles  when  the  tinker  said, 
"  Come,  my  lad,  let  us  sit  down  now,  and  rest  ourselves  a 
bit,  for  it  is  past  noon,  and  you  must  be  tired  with  shoving 
that  wheel  along  ;  I  would  have  taken  it  from  you  before 
this,  but  the  fact  is,  I'm  rather  stiff  yet  about  the  head  and 
shoulders ;  I  feel  it  more  than  I  thought  I  should  j  here's 
a  nice  spot  ;  I  like  to  sit  down  under  a  tree  not  too  well 
covered  with  leaves,  like  this  ash ;  I  like  to  see  the 
sunshine  playing  here  and  there  upon  the  green  grass, 
shifting  its  spots,  as  the  leaves  are  rustled  by  the  wind. 
Now,  let  us  lie  down  here,  and  not  care  a  fig  for  the 
world.     I  am  a  philosopher  ;  do  you  know  that  ? " 

"  I  don't  exactly  know  what  it  means  5  a  very  clever, 
good  man — is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  exactly ;  a  man  may  be  a  philosopher  with- 
out being  very  good,  or  without  being  very  clever.  A 
philosopher  is  a  man  who  never  frets  about  anything, 
cares  about  nothing,  is  contented  with  a  little,  and  don't 
envy  any  one  who  appears  better  off  than  himself;  at  least 
that  is  my  school  of  philosophy.  You  stare,  boy,  to  hear 
a  tinker  talk  in  this  way — I  perceive  that  j  but,  you  must 
know  that  I  am  a  tinker  by  choice ;  and  I  have  tried 
many  other  professions  before,  all  of  which  have  disgusted 
me." 

"  What  other  professions  have  you  been  ? " 

"  I  have  been — let  me  see — I  almost  forget ;  but  I'll 
begin  at  the  beginning.  My  father  was  a  gentleman,  and, 
until  I  was  fourteen  years  old,  I  was  a  gentleman,  or  the 
son  of  one  j  then  he  died,  and  that  profession  was  over, 


The  Poacher  179 

for  he  left  nothing ;  my  mother  married  again,  and  left 
me  ;  she  left  me  at  school,  and  the  master  kept  me  there 
for  a  year,  in  hopes  of  being  paid  ;  but,  hearing  nothing 
of  my  mother,  and  not  knowing  what  to  do  with  me,  he 
at  last  (for  he  was  a  kind  man)  installed  me  as  under 
usher  of  the  school;  for,  you  see,  my  education  had  been 
good,  and  I  was  well  qualified  for  the  situation,  as  far  as 
capability  went ;  it  was  rather  a  bathos,  though,  to  sink 
from  a  gentleman's  son  to  an  under  usher ;  but  I  was  not 
a  philosopher  at  that  time.  I  handed  the  toast  to  the 
master  and  mistress,  the  head  ushers  and  parlour  boarders, 
but  was  not  allowed  any  myself;  I  taught  Latin  and 
Greek,  and  English  Grammar,  to  the  little  boys,  who 
made  faces  at  me,  and  put  crooked  pins  on  the  bottom  of 
my  chair ;  I  walked  at  the  head  of  the  string  when  they 
went  out  for  an  airing,  and  walked  upstairs  the  last 
when  it  was  time  to  go  to  bed.  I  had  all  the  drudgery, 
and  none  of  the  comforts ;  I  was  up  first,  and  held 
answerable  for  all  deficiencies  ;  I  had  to  examine  all  their 
nasty  little  trousers,  and  hold  weekly  conversation  with 
the  botcher,  as  to  the  possibility  of  repairs  ;  to  run  out  if  a 
hen  cackled,  that  the  boys  should  not  get  the  egg  ;  to  wipe 
the  noses  of  my  mistress's  children,  and  carry  them  if  they 
roared ;  to  pay  for  all  broken  glass,  if  I  could  not  discover 
the  culprit  ;  to  account  for  all  bad  smells,  for  all  noise, 
and  for  all  ink  spilled ;  to  make  all  the  pens,  and  to  keep 
one  hundred  boys  silent  and  attentive  at  church :  for  all 
which,  with  deductions,  I  received  ^40  a-year,  and  found 
my  own  washing.  I  stayed  two  years,  during  which  time 
I  contrived  to  save  about  jQ6\  and  with  that,  one  fine 
morning,  I  set  off  on  my  travels,  fully  satisfied  that,  come 
what  would,  I  could  not  change  for  the  worse." 

"  Then  you  were  about  in  the  position  that  I'm  in  now," 
said  Joey,  laughing. 

"  Yes,  thereabouts ;  only  a  little  older,  I  should 
imagine.  I  set  off  with  good  hopes,  but  soon  found  that 
nobody  wanted  educated  people — they  were  a  complete 
drug.      At   last   I   obtained   a   situation   as   waiter   at   a 


180  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

posting-house  on  the  road,  where  I  ran  along  all  day  long 
to  the  tinkling  of  bells,  with  hot  brandy-and-water  ever 
under  my  nose  ;  I  answered  all  the  bells,  but  the  head- 
waiter  took  all  the  money.  However,  I  made  acquaintances 
there  ;  and  at  last  obtained  a  situation  as  clerk  to  a  corn- 
chandler,  where  I  kept  the  books  ;  but  he  failed,  and  then 
I  was  handed  over  to  the  miller,  and  covered  with  flour 
for  the  whole  time  I  was  in  his  service.  I  stayed  there 
till  I  had  an  offer  from  a  coal-merchant  (that  was  going 
from  white  to  black) ;  but,  however,  it  was  a  better  place. 
Then,  by  mere  chance,  I  obtained  the  situation  of  clerk  on 
board  of  a  fourteen-gun  brig,  and  cruised  in  the  Channel 
for  six  months  ;  but,  as  I  found  that  there  was  no  chance 
of  being  a  purser,  and  as  I  hated  the  confinement  and 
discipline  of  a  man-of-war,  I  cut  and  run  as  soon  as 
I  obtained  my  pay.  Then  I  was  shopman  at  a  draper's, 
which  was  abominable,  for  if  the  customers  would  not  buy 
the  goods,  I  got  all  the  blame ;  besides,  I  had  to  clean  my 
master's  boots  and  my  mistress's  shoes,  and  dine  in  the 
kitchen  on  scraps,  with  a  slip-shod,  squinting  girl,  who 
made  love  to  me.  Then  I  was  a  warehouseman  ;  but 
they  soon  tacked  on  to  it  the  office  of  light  porter,  and  I 
had  to  carry  weights  enough  to  break  my  back.  At  last 
I  obtained  a  situation  as  foreman,  in  a  tinman  and  cutler's 
shop,  and  by  being  constantly  sent  into  the  work-shop 
I  learnt  something  of  the  trade ;  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
not  to  remain  much  longer,  and  I  paid  attention,  receiving 
now  and  then  a  lesson  from  the  workmen,  till  I  found 
that  I  could  do  very  well ;  for,  you  see,  it's  a  very  simple 
sort  of  business,  after  all." 

"  But  still  a  travelling  tinker  is  not  so  respectable  as  being 
in  any  of  the  situations  you  were  in  before,"  replied  Joey. 

"  There  I  must  beg  your  pardon,  my  good  lad  ;  I  had 
often  serious  thoughts  upon  the  subject,  and  I  argued  as 
follows  : — What  is  the  best  profession  in  this  world  of 
ours  ? — That  of  a  gentleman  j  for  a  gentleman  does  not 
work,  he  has  liberty  to  go  where  he  pleases,  he  is  not 
controlled,  and  is  his  own  master.     Many  a  man  considers 


The  Poacher  181 

himself  a  gentleman  who  has  not  the  indispensables  that 
must  complete  the  profession.  A  clerk  in  the  Treasury, 
or  public  offices,  considers  himself  a  gentleman  ;  and  so  he 
is  by  birth,  but  not  by  profession  ;  for  he  is  not  his  own 
master,  but  is  as  much  tied  down  to  his  desk  as  the  clerk 
in  a  banker's  counting-house,  or  in  shop.  A  gentleman 
by  profession  must  be  his  own  master,  and  independent ; 
and  how  few  there  are  in  this  world  who  can  say  so ! 
Soldiers  and  sailors  are  obliged  to  obey  orders,  and 
therefore  I  do  not  put  them  down  as  perfect  gentlemen, 
according  to  my  ideas  of  what  a  gentleman  should  be.  I 
doubt  whether  the  Prime  Minister  can  be  considered 
a  gentleman  until  after  he  is  turned  out  of  office.  Do  you 
understand  me,  boy  ? " 

"  O,  yes,  I  understand  what  you  mean  by  a  gentleman  ; 
I  recollect  reading  a  story  of  a  negro  who  came  to  this 
country,  and  who  said  that  the  pig  was  the  only  gentleman 
in  the  country,  for  he  was  the  only  living  being  who  did 
not  work." 

"  The  negro  was  not  far  wrong,"  resumed  the  tinker. 
*'  "Well,  after  thinking  a  long  while,  I  came  to  the  decision 
that,  as  I  could  not  be  a  perfect  gentleman,  I  would  be 
the  nearest  thing  to  it  that  was  possible  ;  and  I  considered 
that  the  most  enviable  situation  was  that  of  a  traveller 
tinker.  I  learned  enough  of  the  trade,  saved  money  to 
purchase  a  knife-grinder's  wheel,  and  here  I  have  been  in 
this  capacity  for  nearly  ten  years." 

"  And  do  you  hold  to  the  opinion  that  you  formed  ?  " 

"I  do ;  for,  look  you,  work  I  must ;  therefore,  the 
only  question  was,  to  take  up  the  work  that  was  lightest 
and  paid  best ;  I  know  no  trade  where  you  can  gain  so 
much  with  so  little  capital  and  so  little  labour.  Then,  I 
am  not  controlled  by  any  living  being  ;  I  have  my  liberty 
and  independence ;  I  go  where  I  please,  stop  where  I 
please,  work  when  I  please,  and  idle  when  I  please ;  and 
never  know  what  it  is  to  want  a  night's  lodging.  Show 
me  any  other  profession  which  can  say  the  same  !  I  might 
be  better  clothed — I  might  be  considered  more  respect- 


182  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

able ;  but  I  am  a  philosopher,  and  despise  all  that ;  I  earn 
as  much  as  I  want,  and  do  very  little  work  for  it.  I  can 
grind  knives  and  scissors  and  mend  kettles  enough  in  one 
day  to  provide  for  a  whole  week  •,  for  instance,  I  can 
grind  a  knife  in  two  minutes,  for  which  I  receive  two- 
pence. Now,  allowing  that  I  work  twelve  hours  in  the 
day,  at  the  rate  of  one  penny  per  minute,  I  should  earn 
jT%  per  day,  which,  deducting  Sundays,  is  ^939  a-year. 
Put  that  against  £40  a-year,  as  a  drudge  to  a  school,  or 
confined  to  a  desk  in  a  shop,  or  any  other  profession,  and 
you  see  how  lucrative  mine  is  in  proportion.  Then  I  am 
under  no  control ;  not  ordered  here  or  there,  like  a 
general  or  admiral ;  not  attacked  in  the  House  of  Commons 
or  Lords,  like  a  prime  minister  j  on  the  contrary,  half- 
a-day's  work  out  of  the  seven  is  all  I  require ;  and  I 
therefore  assert  that  my  profession  is  nearer  to  that  of  a 
gentleman  than  any  other  that  I  know  of." 

"  It  may  be  as  you  style  it,  but  you  don't  look  much 
like  one,"  replied  Joey,  laughing. 

"  That's  prejudice  ;  my  clothes  keep  me  as  warm  as  if 
they  were  of  the  best  materials,  and  quite  new.  I  enjoy 
my  victuals  quite  as  much  as  a  well-dressed  gentleman 
does — perhaps  more  ;  I  can  indulge  in  my  own  thoughts  ^ 
I  have  leisure  to  read  all  my  favourite  authors,  and  can 
afford  to  purchase  new  books.  Besides,  as  I  must  work 
a  little,  it  is  pleasant  to  feel  that  I  am  always  in  request 
and  respected  by  those  who  employ  me." 

"  Respected  !  on  what  account  ? " 

"  Because  I  am  always  wanted,  and  therefore  always 
welcome.  It  is  the  little  things  of  this  life  which  annoy, 
not  the  great ;  and  a  kettle  that  won't  hold  water,  or  a 
knife  that  won't  cut,  are  always  objects  of  execration  -y 
and  as  people  heap  their  anathemas  upon  the  kettle  and 
the  knife,  so  do  they  long  for  my  return,  and  when  I  come 
they  are  glad  to  see  me,  glad  to  pay  me,  and  glad  to  find 
that  their  knives  are  sharp,  and  their  kettles,  thrown  on 
one  side,  are  useful  again,  at  a  trifling  charge.  I  add  to 
people's   comforts  j    I    become   necessary   to   every   poor 


The  Poacher  183 

person  in  the  cottages ;  and  therefore  they  like  me  and 
respect  me.  And,  indeed,  if  it  is  only  considered  how 
many  oaths  and  execrations  are  used  when  a  person  is 
hacking  and  sawing  away  with  a  knife  which  will  not  cut, 
and  how  by  my  wheel  I  do  away  with  the  cause  of  crime, 
I  think  that  a  travelling  tinker  may  be  considered,  as  to 
his  moral  influence  upon  society,  more  important  than  any 
parson  in  his  pulpit.  You  observe  that  I  have  not 
rendered  the  profession  degrading  by  marriage,  as  many  do." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  I  hold  that,  whatever  may  be  the  means  of  a  gentle- 
man, he  must  be  considered  to  lose  the  most  precious 
advantage  appertaining  to  his  profession  when  he  marries  ; 
for  he  loses  his  liberty,  and  can  no  longer  be  said  to  be 
under  no  control.  It  is  very  well  for  other  professions 
to  marry,  as  the  world  must  be  peopled  ;  but  a  gentleman 
never  should.  It  is  true  he  may  contrive  to  leave  his  clog 
at  home,  but  then  he  pays  dear  for  a  useless  and  galling 
appendage ;  but,  in  my  situation  as  a  travelling  tinker, 
I  could  not  have  done  so  ;  I  must  have  dragged  my  clog 
after  me  through  the  mud  and  mire,  and  have  had  a  very 
different  reception  than  what  I  have  at  present." 

"Why  so?" 

"  Why,  a  man  may  stroll  about  the  country  by  himself 
— find  lodging  and  entertainment  for  himself-,  but  not  so 
if  he  had  a  wife  in  rags,  and  two  or  three  dirty  children 
at  his  heels.  A  single  man,  in  every  stage  of  society,  if 
he  pays  his  own  way,  more  easily  finds  admission  than  a 
married  one — that  is,  because  the  women  regulate  it ;  and 
although  they  will  receive  him  as  a  tinker,  they  invariably 
object  to  his  wife,  who  is  considered  and  stigmatised  as 
the  tinker's  trull.  No,  that  would  not  do — a  wife  would 
detract  from  my  respectability,  and  add  very  much  to  my 
cares." 

"  But  have  you  no  home,  then,  anywhere  ? " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  have,  like  all  single  men  on  the  pave,  as 
the  French  say — just  a  sort  of  '  chambers  '  to  keep  my 
property  in,  which  will  accumulate  in  spite  of  me." 


184  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  or, 

"  Where  are  they  ?  " 

"  In  Dudstone,  to  which  place  I  am  now  going.  I  have 
a  room  for  £6  a-year  ;  and  the  woman  in  the  house  takes 
charge  of  everything  during  my  absence.  And  now,  my 
boy,  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Joey  Atherton,"  replied  our  hero,  who  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  take  the  surname  of  his  adopted  sister, 
Nancy. 

"  Well,  Joey,  do  you  agree  with  me  that  my  profession 
is  a  good  one,  and  are  you  willing  to  learn  it  ?  If  so,  I  will 
teach  you." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  learn  it,  because  it  may  one 
day  be  useful ;  but  I  am  not  sure  that  I  should  like  to  follow 
it." 

"  You  will  probably  change  your  opinion  ;  at  all  events, 
give  it  a  fair  trial.  In  a  month  or  so  you  will  have  the 
theory  of  it  by  heart,  and  then  we  will  come  to  the 
practice." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  It's  of  no  use  your  attempting  anything  till  you're  well 
grounded  in  the  theory  of  the  art,  which  you  will  gain  by 
using  your  eyes.  All  you  have  to  do  at  first  is  to  look  on  ; 
watch  me  when  I  grind  a  knife  or  a  pair  of  scissors  ;  be 
attentive  when  you  see  me  soldering  a  pot,  or  putting  a  patch 
upon  a  kettle ;  see  how  I  turn  my  hand  when  I'm  grinding, 
how  I  beat  out  the  iron  when  I  mend  ;  and  learn  how  to 
heat  the  tools  when  I  solder.  In  a  month  you  will  know 
how  things  are  to  be  done  in  theory,  and  after  that  we  shall 
come  to  the  practice.  One  only  thing,  in  the  way  of  practice, 
must  you  enter  upon  at  once,  and  that  is  turning  the  wheel 
with  your  foot ;  for  you  must  learn  to  do  it  so  mechanically, 
that  you  are  not  aware  that  you  are  doing  it,  otherwise  you 
cannot  devote  your  whole  attention  to  the  scissors  or  knife 
in  your  hand." 

"  And  do  you  really  like  your  present  life,  then,  wander- 
ing about  from  place  to  place  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  do.  I  am  my  own  master  ;  go  where  I 
like  ;  stop  where  I  like  ;  pay  no  taxes  or  rates  j  I  still  retain 


The  Poacher  185 

all  the  gentleman  except  the  dress,  which  I  can  resume 
when  I  please.  Besides,  mine  is  a  philanthropic  profession ; 
I  go  about  doing  good,  and  I've  the  means  of  resenting  an 
affront  like  a  despot." 

"  As  how  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  we  travellers  never  interfere  in  each 
other's  beats  ;  mine  is  a  circuit  of  many  miles  of  country, 
and  at  the  rate  I  travel  it  is  somewhat  about  three  months 
until  I  am  at  the  same  place  again ;  they  must  wait  for  me 
if  they  want  their  jobs  done,  for  they  cannot  get  any  one  else. 
In  one  village  they  played  me  a  trick  one  Saturday  night 
when  all  the  men  were  at  the  ale-house,  and  the  consequence 
was,  I  cut  the  village  for  a  year  ;  and  there  never  was  such 
a  village  full  of  old  kettles  and  blunt  knives  in  consequence. 
However,  they  sent  me  a  deputation,  hoping  I  would  forget 
what  had  passed,  and  I  pardoned  them." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  inquired  Joey. 

"  Augustus  Spikeman.  My  father  was  Augustus 
Spikeman,  Esq. ;  I  was  Master  Augustus  Spikeman,  and 
now  I'm  Spikeman,  the  tinker  ;  so  now  we'll  go  on  again. 
I  have  nearly  come  to  the  end  of  my  beat ;  in  two  days  we 
shall  be  at  Dudstone,  where  I  have  my  room,  and  where 
we  shall  probably  remain  for  some  days  before  we  start 
again." 

In  the  afternoon  they  arrived  at  a  small  hamlet,  where 
they  supped  and  slept.  Spikeman  was  very  busy  till  noon 
grinding  and  repairing  ;  they  then  continued  their  journey, 
and  on  the  second  day,  having  waited  outside  the  town  till 
it  was  dusk,  Spikeman  left  his  wheel  in  the  charge  of  the 
landlord  of  a  small  ale-house,  to  whom  he  appeared  well- 
known,  then  walked  with  Joey  to  the  house  in  which  he 
had  a  room,  and  led  him  upstairs  to  his  apartments. 

When  our  hero  entered  the  chamber  of  Spikeman,  he 
was  very  much  surprised  to  find  it  was  spacious,  light,  and 
airy,  and  very  clean.  A  large  bed  was  in  one  corner ;  a 
sofa,  mahogany  table,  chest  of  drawers,  and  chairs,  composed 
the  furniture  ;  there  was  a  good-sized  looking-glass  over 
the  chimney-piece,  and  several  shelves  of  books  round  the 


1 86  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

room.  Desiring  Joey  to  sit  down  and  take  a  book,  Spike- 
man  rang  for  water,  shaved  off  his  beard,  which  had 
grown  nearly  half  an  inch  long,  washed  himself,  and  then 
put  on  clean  linen,  and  a  very  neat  suit  of  clothes.  When 
he  was  completely  dressed,  Joey  could  hardly  believe  that 
it  was  the  same  person.  Upon  Joey  expressing  his  astonish- 
ment, Spikeman  replied,  "  You  see,  my  lad,  there  is  no  one 
in  this  town  who  knows  what  my  real  profession  is.  I 
always  go  out  and  return  at  dusk,  and  the  travelling  tinker 
is  not  recognised  j  not  that  I  care  for  it  so  much,  only  other 
people  do,  and  I  respect  their  prejudices.  They  know  that 
I  am  in  the  ironmongery  line,  and  that  is  all ;  so  I  always 
make  it  a  rule  to  enjoy  myself  after  my  circuit,  and  live  like 
a  gentleman  till  part  of  my  money  is  gone,  and  then  I  set 
out  again.  I  am  acquainted  with  a  good  many  highly 
respectable  people  in  this  town,  and  that  is  the  reason  why 
I  said  I  could  be  of  service  to  you.  Have  you  any  better 
clothes  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  much  better." 

"  Then  dress  yourself  in  them,  and  keep  those  you 
wear  for  our  travels." 

Joey  did  as  he  was  requested,  and  Spikeman  then  pro- 
posed that  they  should  make  a  call  at  a  friend's,  where 
he  would  introduce  our  hero  as  his  nephew.  They  set 
off,  and  soon  came  to  the  front  of  a  neat-looking  house, 
at  the  door  of  which  Spikeman  rapped.  The  door  was 
opened  by  one  of  the  daughters  of  the  house,  who,  on 
seeing  him,  cried  out,  "  Dear  me,  Mr  Spikeman,  is  this 
you  ?     Why,  where  have  you  been  all  this  while  ? " 

"  About  the  country  for  orders,  Miss  Amelia  ; "  replied 
Spikeman  ;  "  business  must  be  attended  to." 

"  Well,  come  in  ;  mother  will  be  glad  to  see  you," 
replied  the  girl,  at  the  same  time  opening  the  door  of  the 
sitting-room  for  them  to  enter. 

"  Mr  Spikeman,  as  I  live !  "  exclaimed  another  girl, 
jumping  up,  and  seizing  his  hand. 

"  Well,  Mr  Spikeman,  it's  an  age  since  we  have  seen 
you,"  said  the  mother,  "  so  now  sit  down  and  tell  us  all 


The  Poacher  187 

the  news ;  and,  Ophelia,  my  love,  get  tea  ready ;  and 
who  is  it  you  have  with  you,  Mr  Spikeman  ? " 

"  My  little  nephew,  madam  ;  he  is  about  to  enter  into 
the  mysteries  of  the  cutlery  trade." 

"  Indeed  !  well,  I  suppose,  as  you  are  looking  out  for 
a  successor,  you  soon  intend  to  retire  from  business  and 
take  a  wife,  Mr  Spikeman  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  suppose  it  will  be  my  fate  one  of  these  days," 
replied  Spikeman ;  "  but  that's  an  affair  that  requires 
some  consideration." 

"  Very  true,  Mr  Spikeman,  it  is  a  serious  affair,"  replied 
the  old  lady  ;  "  and  I  can  assure  you  that  neither  my 
Ophelia  nor  Amelia  should  marry  a  man,  with  my  con- 
sent, without  I  was  convinced  the  gentleman  considered 
it  a  very  serious  affair.  It  makes  or  mars  a  man,  as  the 
saying  is." 

"Well,  Miss  Ophelia,  have  you  read  all  the  books  I 
lent  you  the  last  time  I  was  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  they  have,  both  of  them,"  replied  the  old 
lady  ;  "  they  are  so  fond  of  poetry." 

"  But  we've  often  wished  that  you  were  here  to  read 
to  us,"  replied  Miss  Amelia,  "  you  do  read  so  beautifully  ; 
will  you  read  to  us  after  tea  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  with  much  pleasure." 

Miss  Ophelia  now  entered  with  the  tea-tray  ;  she  and 
her  sister  then  went  into  the  kitchen  to  make  some  toast, 
and  to  see  to  the  kettle  boiling,  while  Mr  Spikeman  con- 
tinued in  conversation  with  the  mother.  Mrs  James  was 
the  widow  of  a  draper  in  the  town,  who  had,  at  his  death, 
left  her  sufficient  to  live  quietly  and  respectably  with  her 
daughters,  who  were  both  very  good,  amiable  girls  ;  and, 
it  must  be  acknowledged,  neither  of  them  unwilling  to 
listen  to  the  addresses  of  Mr  Spikeman,  had  he  been  so 
inclined ;  but  they  began  to  think  that  Mr  Spikeman  was 
not  a  marrying  man,  which,  as  the  reader  must  know 
by  this  time,  was  the  fact. 

The  evening  passed  very  pleasantly.  Mr  Spikeman 
took  a  volume  of  poetry,  and,  as  Miss  Ophelia  had  said, 


1 88  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

he  did  read  very  beautifully  :  so  much  so,  that  Joey  was 
in  admiration,  for  he  had  never  yet  known  the  power 
produced  by  good  reading.  At  ten  o'clock  they  took 
their  leave,  and  returned  to  Spikeman's  domicile. 

As  soon  as  they  were  upstairs,  and  candles  lighted, 
Spikeman  sat  down  on  the  sofa.  "  You  see,  Joey,"  said 
he,  "  that  it  is  necessary  not  to  mention  the  knife-grinder's 
wheel,  as  it  would  make  a  difference  in  my  reception.  All 
gentlemen  do  not  gain  their  livelihood  as  honestly  as  I 
do;  but,  still,  prejudices  are  not  to  be  overcome.  You 
did  me  a  kind  act,  and  I  wished  to  return  it ;  I  could 
not  do  so  without  letting  you  into  this  little  secret, 
but  I  have  seen  enough  of  you  to  think  you  can  be 
trusted." 

"  I  should  hope  so,"  replied  Joey ;  "  I  have  learnt 
caution,  young  as  I  am." 

"  That  I  have  perceived  already,  and  therefore  I  have 
said  enough  on  the  subject.  I  have  but  one  bed,  and  you 
must  sleep  with  me,  as  you  did  on  our  travels." 

The  next  morning  the  old  woman  of  the  house  brought 
up  their  breakfast.  Spikeman  lived  in  a  very  comfortable 
way,  very  different  to  what  he  did  as  a  travelling  tinker  ; 
and  he  really  appeared  to  Joey  to  be,  with  the  exception 
of  his  conversation,  which  was  always  superior,  a  very 
different  person  from  what  he  was  when  Joey  first  fell  in 
with  him.  For  many  days  they  remained  at  Dudstone, 
visiting  at  different  houses,  and  were  always  well  received. 

"  You  appear  so  well  known,  and  so  well  liked  in  this 
town,"  observed  Joey;  "I  wonder  you  do  not  set  up  a 
business,  particularly  as  you  say  you  have  money  in  the 
bank." 

"  If  I  did,  Joey,  I  should  no  longer  be  happy,  no  longer 
be  my  own  master,  and  do  as  I  please  ;  in  fact,  I  should 
no  longer  be  the  gentleman,  that  is,  the  gentleman  by 
profession,  as  near  as  I  can  be  one — the  man  who  has  his 
liberty,  and  enjoys  it.  No,  no,  boy ;  I  have  tried  almost 
everything,  and  have  come  to  my  own  conclusions.  Have 
you  been  reading  the  book  I  gave  you  ?  " 


The  Poacher  189 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  nearly  finished  it." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  like  reading.  Nothing  so 
much  improves  or  enlarges  the  mind.  You  must  never  let 
a  day  pass  without  reading  two  or  three  hours,  and 
when  we  travel  again,  and  are  alone  by  the  wayside, 
we  will  read  together ;  I  will  choose  some  books  on 
purpose." 

"  I  should  like  very  much  to  write  to  my  sister  Mary," 
said  Joey. 

"  Do  so,  and  tell  her  that  you  have  employment ;  "  but 
do  not  say  exactly  how.  There  is  paper  and  pens  in  the 
drawer.  Stop,  I  will  find  them  for  you."  Spikeman  went 
to  the  drawer,  and  when  taking  out  the  pens  and  paper, 
laid  hold  of  some  manuscript  writing.  "  By-the-bye,"  said 
he,  laughing,  "  I  told  you,  Joey,  that  I  had  been  a  captain's 
clerk  on  board  the  Weasel,  a  fourteen-gun  brig  ;  I  wrote 
the  captain's  despatches  for  him ;  and  here  are  two  of 
them  of  which  I  kept  copies,  that  I  might  laugh  over 
them  occasionally.  I  wrote  all  his  letters  ;  for  he  was  no 
great  penman  in  the  first  place,  and  had  a  very  great 
confusion  of  ideas  in  the  second.  He  certainly  was  in- 
debted to  me,  as  you  will  acknowledge,  when  you  hear 
what  I  read  and  tell  you.  I  served  under  him,  cruising  in 
the  Channel ;  and  I  flatter  myself  that  it  was  entirely 
through  my  writings  that  he  got  his  promotion.  He  is 
now  Captain  Alcibiades  Ajax  Boggs,  and  all  through  me. 
We  were  cruising  off  the  coast  of  France,  close  in  to 
Ushant,  where  we  perceived  a  fleet  of  small  vessels,  called 
chasse-marees  (coasting  luggers),  laden  with  wine,  coming 
round  ;  and,  as  we  did  not  know  of  any  batteries  there- 
abouts, we  ran  in  to  attempt  a  capture.  We  cut  off  three 
of  them  ;  but  just  as  we  had  compelled  them,  by  firing 
broadsides  into  them,  to  lower  their  sails,  a  battery,  which 
our  commander  did  not  know  anything  of,  opened  fire 
upon  us,  and  before  we  could  get  out  of  range,  which  we 
did  as  soon  as  we  could,  one  shot  came  in  on  deck,  and 
cut  the  topsail  halyard's  fall,  at  the  very  time  that  the  men 
were  hoisting  the  sail  (for  we  had  been  shaking  another 


1 90  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

reef  out),  and  the  rope  being  divided,  as  the  men  were 
hauling  upon  it,  of  course  they  all  tumbled  on  the  deck, 
one  over  the  other.  The  other  shot  struck  our  foremast, 
and  chipped  off  a  large  slice,  besides  cutting  away  one 
of  the  shrouds,  and  the  signal  halyards.  Now,  you  do 
not  know  enough  about  ships  to  understand  that  there  was 
very  little  harm  done,  or  that  the  coasting  vessels  were 
very  small,  with  only  three  or  four  men  on  board  of  each 
of  them  ;  it  therefore  required  some  little  management  to 
make  a  flaming  despatch.  But  I  did  it — only  listen,  now — 
I  have  begun  in  the  true  Nelson  style. 

«  (  TQ    THE    SECRETARY   OF   THE    ADMIRALTY. 

"  '  Sir, — It  has  pleased  the  Great  Disposer  to  grant  a 
decided  victory  to  his  Majesty's  arms,  through  the  efforts 
of  the  vessel  which  I  have  the  honour  to  command.  On 
the  23rd  day  of  August  last,  Ushant  then  bearing  S.  "W.  f 
West,  wind  W.,  distant  from  three  to  four  leagues,  perceived 
an  enemy's  fleet,  of  three-masted  vessels  rounding  the  point, 
with  the  hopes,  I  presume,  of  gaining  the  port  of  Cher- 
burg.  Convinced  that  I  should  have  every  support  from 
the  gallant  officers  and  true  British  tars  under  my  com- 
mand, I  immediately  bore  down  to  the  attack ;  the  move- 
ments of  the  enemy  fully  proved  that  they  were  astounded 
at  the  boldness  of  the  manoeuvre,  and  instead  of  keeping 
their  line,  they  soon  separated,  and  sheer'd  off  in 
different  directions,  so  as  to  receive  the  support  of  their 
batteries.' 

"  You  see,  Joey,  I  have  said  three-masted  vessels,  which 
implies  ships,  although,  as  in  this  case,  they  were  only 
small  coasting  luggers. 

"  '  In  half  an  hour  we  were  sufficiently  close  to  the 
main  body  to  open  our  fire,  and  broadside  after  broadside 
were  poured  in,  answered  by  the  batteries  on  the  coast, 
with  unerring  aim.  Notwithstanding  the  unequal  contest, 
I  have  the  pleasure  of  informing  you,  that  in  less  than 
half  an   hour  we  succeeded   in   capturing    three   of  the 


The  Poacher  191 

vessels  (named  as  per  margin),  and  finding  nothing  more 
could  be  done  for  the  honour  of  his  Majesty's  arms,  as 
soon  as  we  could  take  possession,  I  considered  it  my  duty  to 
haul  off  from  the  incessant  and  galling  fire  of  the  batteries. 

"  '  In  this  well-fought  and  successful  contest,  I  trust 
that  the  British  flag  has  not  been  tarnished.  What  the 
enemy's  loss  may  have  been  it  is  impossible  to  say  ;  they 
acknowledge  themselves,  however,  that  it  has  been 
severe.' " 

"  But,  did  the  enemy  lose  any  men  ?  "  demanded  Joey. 

"  Not  one  ;  but  you  observe  I  do  not  say  loss  of  life, 
although  the  Admiralty  may  think  I  refer  to  it — that's  not 
my  fault.  But  I  was  perfectly  correct  in  saying  the 
enemy's  loss  was  great ;  for  the  poor  devils  who  were  in 
the  chasse-marees,  when  they  were  brought  on  board, 
wrung  their  hands,  and  said,  that  they  had  lost  their  all. 
Now,  what  loss  can  be  greater  than  all? 

"  '  His  Majesty's  vessel  is  much  injured  in  her  spars  and 
rigging  from  the  precision  of  the  enemy's  fire ;  her  lower 
rigging — running  rigging — being  cut  away,  her  foremast 
severely  wounded,  and,  I  regret  to  add,  severely  injured 
in  the  hull ;  but,  such  was  the  activity  of  the  officers  and 
men,  that,  with  the  exception  of  the  foremast,  which  will 
require  the  services  of  the  dock-yard,  in  twenty-four  hours 
we  were  ready  to  resume  the  contest.  I  am  happy  to  say, 
that,  although  we  have  many  men  hurt,  we  have  none 
killed  ;  and  I  trust  that,  under  the  care  of  the  surgeon, 
they  will,  most  of  them,  be  soon  able  to  resume  their 
duty.'" 

"  But  you  had  no  men  wounded  ? "  interrupted  Joey. 

"  None  wounded !  I  don't  say  wounded,  I  only  say 
hurt.  Didn't  a  dozen  of  the  men,  who  were  hoisting  the 
main-topsail  when  the  fall  was  cut  away,  all  tumble  back- 
wards on  deck  ?  And  do  you  think  they  were  not  hurt  by 
the  fall  ? — Of  course,  they  were  j  besides,  one  man  nearly 
had  his  finger  jammed  off,  and  another  burnt  his  hand 
by  putting  too  much  powder  to  the  touch-hole  of  his 
carronade.     So  I  continue : — 


192  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

"  *  It  now  becomes  my  duty  to  point  out  to  their 
Lordships  the  very  meritorious  conduct  of  Mr  John  Smith, 
an  old  and  deserving  officer,  Mr  James  Hammond,  Mr 
Cross,  and  Mr  Byfleet ;  indeed,  I  may  say  that  all  the 
officers  under  my  command  vied  in  their  exertions  for  the 
honour  of  the  British  flag.' 

"  You  see  the  commander  had  quarrelled  with  some  of 
his  officers  at  that  time,  and  would  not  mention  them.  I 
tried  all  I  could  to  persuade  him,  but  he  was  obstinate. 

'"  '  I  have  the  honour  to  return  a  list  of  casualties  and 
the  names  of  the  vessels  taken,  and  have  the  honour  to  be, 
Sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

"  *  Alcibiades  Ajax  Boggs. 

"  '  Report  of  killed  and  wounded  on  board  of  his 
Majesty's  brig  Weasel,  in  the  action  of  the  23rd  of  August : 
— Killed,  none  j  wounds  and  contusions,  John  Potts, 
William  Smith,  Thomas  Snaggs,  William  Walker,  and 
Peter  Potter,  able  seamen ;  John  Hobbs,  Timothy  Stout, 
and  Walter  Pye,  marines. 

"  '  Return  of  vessels  captured  in  the  action  of  the  23rd 
of  August,  by  his  Majesty's  brig  Weasel : — Notre  Dame  de 
Misericorde,  de  La  Rochelle ;  Le  Vengeur  de  Bordeaux ; 
VEtoile  du  Matin,  de  Charente. 

(Signed)  "  '  Alcibiades  Ajax  Boggs. 
"  '  Commander.' " 

"  Well,  I'm  sure,  if  you  had  not  told  me  otherwise,  I 
should  have  thought  it  had  been  a  very  hard  fight." 

"  That's  what  they  did  at  the  Admiralty,  and  just  what 
we  wanted  j  but  now  I  come  to  my  other  despatch,  which 
obtained  the  rank  for  my  captain  j  and  upon  which  I 
plume  myself  not  a  little.  You  must  know,  that  when 
cruising  in  the  Channel,  in  a  thick  fog,  and  not  keeping  a 
very  sharp  look-out,  we  ran  foul  of  a  French  privateer. 
It  was  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  we  had  very 
few  hands  on  deck,  and  those  on  deck  were  most  of  them, 
if  not  all,  asleep.     We  came  bang  against  one  another,  and 


The  Poacher  193 

carried  away  both  spars  and  yards ;  and  the  privateer,  who 
was  by  far  the  most  alert  after  the  accident  happened,  cut 
away  a  good  deal  of  our  rigging,  and  got  clear  of  us 
before  our  men  could  be  got  up  from  below.  Had  they 
been  on  the  look-out,  they  might  have  boarded  us  to  a 
certainty,  for  all  was  confusion  and  amazement ;  but  they 
cleared  themselves  and  got  off  before  our  men  could  get 
up  and  run  to  their  guns.  She  was  out  of  sight  im- 
mediately, from  the  thickness  of  the  fog ;  however,  we 
fired  several  broadsides  in  the  direction  we  supposed  she 
might  be ;  and  there  was  an  end  to  the  matter.  Altogether,, 
as  you  perceive,  it  was  not  a  very  creditable  affair." 

"Why,  no,"  replied  Joey  ;  "  I  don't  see  how  you  could 
make  much  out  of  that." 

"  Well,  if  you  can't  see,  now  you  shall  hear  : — 

«  1  TQ  THE  SECRETARY  OF  THE  ADMIRALTY. 

"  '  Sir, — I  have  the  honour  to  acquaint  you  that,  on  the 
night  of  the  loth  November,  cruising  in  the  Channel,  with 
the  wind  from  S.  E.,  and  foggy,  a  large  vessel  hove  in 
sight  on  our  weather  bow.' 

"  You  see,  I  didn't  say  we  perceived  a  vessel,  for  that 
would  not  have  been  correct. 

"  *  As  she  evidently  did  not  perceive  us,  we  continued 
our  course  towards  her ;  the  men  were  summoned  to  their 
quarters,  and,  in  a  very  short  time,  were  ready  to  uphold 
the  honour  of  the  English  flag.  The  first  collision 
between  the  two  vessels  was  dreadful ;  but  she  contrived 
to  disengage  herself,  and  we  were  therefore  prevented 
carrying  her  by  boarding.  After  repeated  broadsides,  to 
which,  in  her  disabled  and  confused  state,  she  could  make 
no  return,  she  gradually  increased  her  distance  ;  still,  she 
had  remained  in  our  hands,  a  proud  trophy — I  say,  still 
she  had  been  a  proud  trophy — had  not  the  unequal 
collision' — (it  was  a  very  unequal  collision,  for  she  was  a 
much  smaller  vessel  than  we  were) — '  carried  away  our 
fore-yard,   cat-head,  fore-top-gallant   mast,  jibboom,   and 

J.R.  N 


j  94  Joseph  Rushbrook  •  or, 

dolphin-striker,  and  rendered  us,  from  the  state  of  our 
rigging,  a  mere  wreck.  Favoured  by  the  thick  fog  and 
darkness  of  the  night,  I  regret  that,  after  all  our  efforts, 
she  contrived  to  escape,  and  the  spoils  of  victory  were 
wrested  from  us  after  all  our  strenuous  exertions  in  our 
country's  cause. 

"'When  all  performed  their  duty  in  so  exemplary  a 
manner,  it  would  be  unfair,  and,  indeed,  invidious,  to 
particularise  j  still,  I  cannot  refrain  from  mentioning  the 
good  conduct  of  Mr  Smith,  my  first  lieutenant ;  Mr 
Bowles,  my  second  lieutenant  ;  Mr  Chabb,  my  worthy 
master ;  Mr  Jones  and  Mr  James,  master's  mates  ;  Messrs 
Hall,  Small,  Ball,  and  Pall,  midshipmen ;  and  Messrs 
Sweet  and  Sharp,  volunteers.  I  also  received  every 
assistance  from  Mr  Grulf,  the  purser,  who  offered  his 
services,  and  I  cannot  omit  the  conduct  of  Mr  Spikeman, 
clerk.  I  am  also  highly  indebted  to  the  attention  and  care 
shown  by  Mr  Thorn,  surgeon,  who  is  so  well  supported 
in  his  duties  by  Mr  Green,  assistant  surgeon,  of  this  ship. 
The  activity  of  Mr  Bruce,  the  boatswain,  was  deserving 
of  the  highest  encomiums  ;  and  it  would  be  an  act  of 
injustice  not  to  notice  the  zeal  of  Mr  Bile,  the  carpenter, 
and  Mr  Sponge,  gunner  of  the  ship.  James  Anderson, 
quarter-master,  received  a  severe  contusion,  but  is  now 
doing  well  ;  I  trust  I  shall  not  be  considered  presumptuous 
in  recommending  him  to  a  boatswain's  warrant. 

"  I  am  happy  to  say  that  our  casualties,  owing  to  the 
extreme  panic  of  the  enemy,  are  very  few.     I  have   the 
honour  to  be,  sir,  your  very  obedient  and  humble  servant, 
"  '  Alcibiades  Ajax  Boggs. 

"  *  Wounded — Very  severely,  James  Anderson,  quarter- 
master. Contusions — John  Peters,  able  seaman ;  James 
Morrison,  marine  -,  Thomas  Snowball,  captain's  cook.' 

"  There,  now  ;  that  I  consider  a  very  capital  letter  ;  no 
Frenchman,  not  even  an  American,  could  have  made  out  a 
better  case.  The  Admiralty  were  satisfied  that  something 
very   gallant  had  been  done,   although   the  fog  made  it 


The  Poacher  195 

appear  not  quite  so  clear  as  it  might  have  been  j  and  the 
consequence  was,  that  my  commander  received  his  pro- 
motion. There,  now  write  your  letter,  and  tell  your  sister 
that  she  must  answer  it  as  soon  as  possible,  as  you  are 
going  out  with  me  for  orders  in  three  or  four  days,  and 
shall  be  absent  for  three  months." 

Joey  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Mary  ;  he  stated  the  adven- 
ture with  the  two  scoundrels  who  would  have  robbed  him, 
his  afterwards  falling  in  with  a  gentleman  who  dealt  in 
cutlery,  and  his  being  taken  into  his  service ;  and,  as 
Spikeman  had  told  him,  requested  her  to  answer  directly, 
as  he  was  about  to  set  off  on  a  circuit  with  his  master, 
which  would  occasion  his  absence  for  three  months. 

Mary's  reply  came  before  Joey's  departure.  She  stated 
that  she  was  comfortable  and  happy,  that  her  mistress  was 
very  kind  to  her,  but  that  she  felt  that  the  work  was 
rather  too  much ;  however,  she  would  do  her  duty  to  her 
employers.  There  was  much  good  advice  to  Joey,  much 
affectionate  feeling,  occasional  recurrence  to  past  scenes, 
and  thankfulness  that  she  was  no  longer  a  disgrace  to  her 
parents  and  her  sex ;  it  was  an  humble,  grateful,  contrite, 
and  affectionate  effusion,  which  did  honour  to  poor  Mary, 
and  proved  that  she  was  sincere  in  her  assertions  of  con- 
tinuing in  the  right  path,  and  dotingly  attached  to  our 
hero.  Joey  read  it  over  and  over  again,  and  shed  tears  of 
pleasure  as  he  recalled  the  scenes  which  had  passed.  Poor 
Joey  had  lost  his  father  and  mother,  as  he  supposed,  for 
ever ;  and  it  was  soothing  to  the  boy's  feelings  to  know 
that  there  were  some  people  in  the  world  who  loved  him ; 
and  he  remained  for  hours  thinking  of  Mary,  Mrs  Chopper, 
and  his  good  and  kind  friends,  the  M'Shanes. 

Two  days  after  the  receipt  of  Mary's  letter,  Spikeman 
and  Joey  went  to  the  houses  of  their  various  acquaintances 
and  bade  them  adieu,  announcing  their  intention  to  set  off 
on  the  circuit.  Spikeman  paid  up  everything,  and  put 
away  many  articles  in  his  room  which  had  been  taken  out 
for  use.  Joey  and  he  then  put  on  their  travelling  garments, 
and,  waiting  till  it  was  dusk,  locked  the  chambers  and  set 


196  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

off  to  the  little  public-house,  where  the  knife-grinder's 
wheel  had  been  deposited.  Spikeman  had  taken  the  pre- 
caution to  smudge  and  dirty  his  face,  and  Joey,  at  his 
request,  had  done  the  same.  When  they  entered  the 
public-house,  the  landlord  greeted  Spikeman  warmly,  and 
asked  him  what  he  had  been  about.  Spikeman  replied 
that,  as  usual,  he  had  been  to  see  his  old  mother,  and  now 
he  must  roll  his  grindstone  a  bit.  After  drinking  a  pot  of 
beer  at  the  kitchen-fire,  they  retired  to  bed  •,  and  the  next 
morning,  at  daylight,  they  once  more  proceeded  on  their 
travels. 


Chapter  XXIX 

In  which  the  tinker  falls  in  love  with  a  lady  of  high  degree. 

For  many  months  Spikeman  and  our  hero  travelled 
together,  during  which  time  Joey  had  learned  to  grind  a 
knife  or  a  pair  of  scissors  as  well  as  Spikeman  himself,  and 
took  most  of  the  work  off  his  hands  ;  they  suited  each 
other,  and  passed  their  time  most  pleasantly,  indulging 
themselves  every  day  with  a  few  hours'  repose  and  reading 
on  the  wayside. 

One  afternoon,  when  it  was  very  sultry,  they  had 
stopped  and  ensconced  themselves  in  a  shady  copse  by  the 
side  of  the  road,  not  far  from  an  old  mansion,  which  stood 
on  an  eminence,  when  Spikeman  said,  "Joey,  I  think  we 
are  intruding  here ;  and,  if  so,  may  be  forcibly  expelled, 
which  will  not  be  pleasant ;  so  roll  the  wheel  in,  out  of 
sight,  and  then  we  may  indulge  in  a  siesta,  which,  during 
this  heat,  will  be  very  agreeable." 

"  What's  a  siesta  ?  "  said  Joey. 

"  A  siesta  is  a  nap  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  universally 

resorted  to  by  the  Spaniards,  Italians,  and,  indeed,  by  all 

the  inhabitants  of  hot  climates  ;  with  respectable  people  it 

,  is  called  a  siesta,  but  with  a  travelling  tinker  it  must  be, 

I  suppose,  called  a  snooze." 


The  Poacher  197 

"  Well,  then,  a  snooze  let  it  be,"  said  Joey,  taking  his 
seat  on  the  turf  by  Spikeman,  in  a  reclining  position. 

They  had  not  yet  composed  themselves  to  sleep,  when 
they  heard  a  female  voice  singing  at  a  little  distance.  The 
voice  evidently  proceeded  from  the  pleasure-grounds 
which  were  between  them  and  the  mansion. 

"  Hush ! "  said  Spikeman,  putting  up  his  finger,  as  he 
raised  himself  on  his  elbow. 

The  party  evidently  advanced  nearer  to  them,  and 
carolled,  in  very  beautiful  tones,  the  song  of  Ariel — 

"  Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  lurk  I, 
In  the  cowslip's  bell  I  lie,"  etc. 

"  Heigho !  "  exclaimed  a  soft  voice,  after  the  song  had 
been  finished  ;  "  I  wish  I  could  creep  into  a  cowslip  bell. 
Miss  Araminta,  you  are  not  coming  down  the  walk  yet; 
it  appears  you  are  in  no  hurry,  so  I'll  begin  my  new 
book." 

After  this  soliloquy  there  was  silence.  Spikeman  made 
a  sign  to  Joey  to  remain  still,  and  then,  creeping  on  his 
hands  and  knees,  by  degrees  arrived  as  far  as  he  could 
venture  to  the  other  side  of  the  copse. 

In  a  minute  or  two  another  footstep  was  heard  coming 
down  the  gravel  walk,  and  soon  afterwards  another 
voice. 

"  Well,  Melissa,  did  you  think  I  never  would  come  ?  I 
could  not  help  it.  Uncle  would  have  me  rub  his  foot  a 
little." 

"  Ay,  there's  the  rub,"  replied  the  first  young  lady. 
"  Well,  it  was  a  sacrifice  of  friendship  at  the  altar  of 
humanity.  Poor  papa !  I  wish  I  could  rub  his  foot  for 
him  ;  but  I  always  do  it  to  a  quadrille  tune,  and  he  always 
says  I  rub  it  too  hard ;  I  only  follow  the  music." 

"  Yes,  and  so  does  he  ;  for  you  sometimes  set  him 
a-dancing,  you  giddy  girl." 

"  I  am  not  fit  for  a  nurse,  and  that's  the  fact,  Araminta. 
I  can  feel  for  him,  but  I  cannot  sit  still  a  minute ;  that  you 
know.     Poor  mamma  was  a  great  loss  ;  and,  when  she  died, 


1 98  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
my  dear  cousin  Araminta." 

"  Nay,  you  are  very  useful  in  your  way  ;  for  you  play 
and  sing  to  him,  and  that  soothes  him." 

"  Yes,  I  do  it  with  pleasure,  for  I  can  do  but  little  else ; 
but,  Araminta,  my  singing  is  that  of  a  caged  bird ;  I  must 
sing  where  they  hang  my  cage.  O,  how  I  wish  I  had 
been  a  man  !  " 

"  I  believe  that  there  never  was  a  woman  yet,  who  has 
not,  at  one  time  in  her  life,  said  the  same  thing,  however 
mild  and  quiet  she  may  have  been  in  disposition.  But,  as 
we  cannot,  why " 

"  Why,  the  next  thing  is  to  wish  to  be  a  man's  wife, 
Araminta ;  is  it  not  ? " 

"It  is  natural,  I  suppose,  to  wish  so,"  replied  Araminta; 
"  but  I  seldom  think  about  it.  I  must  first  see  the  man  I 
can  love  before  I  think  about  marrying." 

"  And  now,  tell  me,  Araminta,  what  kind  of  man  do  you 
think  you  could  fancy  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  him  to  be  steady,  generous,  brave,  and 
handsome  ;  of  unexceptionable  family,  with  plenty  of 
money ;  that's  all." 

"  O,  that's  all !  I  admire  your  '  that's  all.'  You  are  not 
very  likely  to  meet  with  your  match,  I'm  afraid.  If  he's 
steady,  he  is  not  very  likely  to  be  very  generous  ;  and  if  to 
those  two  qualifications  you  tack  on  birth,  wealth,  beauty, 
and  bravery,  I  think  your  'that's  all'  is  very  misplaced. 
Now  I  have  other  ideas." 

"Pray  let  me  have  them,  Melissa." 

"  I  do  not  want  my  husband  to  be  very  handsome,  but 
I  wish  him  to  be  full  of  fire  and  energy ;  a  man  that — in 
fact,  a  man  that  could  keep  me  in  tolerable  order.  I  do 
not  care  about  his  having  money,  as  I  have  plenty  in  my 
own  possession  to  bestow  on  any  man  I  love :  but  he  must 
be  of  good  education — very  fond  of  reading — romantic  not 
a  little — and  his  extraction  must  be,  however  poor,  respect- 
able— that  is,  his  parents  must  not  have  been  tradespeople. 
You  know  I  prefer  riding  a  spirited  horse  to  a  quiet  one ; 


The  Poacher  199 

and,  if  I  were  to  marry,  I  should  like  a  husband  who  would 
give  me  some  trouble  to  manage  j  I  think  I  would  master 
him." 

"  So  have  many  thought  before  you,  Melissa,  but  they 
have  been  mistaken." 

"  Yes,  because  they  have  attempted  it  by  meekness  and 
submission,  thinking  to  disarm  by  that  method.  It  never 
will  do,  any  more  than  getting  into  a  passion.  When  a 
man  gives  up  his  liberty,  he  does  made  a  great  sacrifice — 
that  I'm  sure  of — and  a  woman  should  prevent  him  feeling 
that  he  is  chained  to  her." 

"  And  how  would  you  manage  that  ? "  said  Araminta. 

"By  being  infinite  in  my  variety,  always  cheerful,  and 
instead  of  permitting  him  to  stay  at  home,  pinned  to  my 
apron-string,  order  him  out  away  from  me,  join  his  amuse- 
ments, and  always  have  people  in  the  house  that  he  liked, 
so  as  to  avoid  being  too  much  tete-a-tete.  The  caged  bird 
ever  wants  to  escape ;  open  the  doors  and  let  him  take  a 
flight,  and  he  will  come  back  of  his  own  accord.  Of 
course,  I  am  supposing  my  gentleman  to  be  naturally  good- 
hearted  and  good-tempered.  Sooner  than  marry  what  you 
call  a  steady,  sober  man,  I'd  run  away  with  a  captain  of  a 
privateer.  And,  one  thing  more,  Araminta,  I  never  would, 
passionately,  distractedly  fond  as  I  might  be,  acknowledge 
to  my  husband  the  extent  of  my  devotion  and  affection  for 
him.  I  would  always  have  him  to  suppose  that  I  could 
still  love  him  better  than  what  I  yet  did — in  short,  that 
there  was  more  to  be  gained ;  for,  depend  upon  it,  when  a 
man  is  assured  that  he  has  nothing  more  to  gain,  his  atten- 
tions are  over.  You  can't  expect  a  man  to  chase  nothing, 
you  know." 

"  You  are  a  wild  girl,  Melissa  ;  I  only  hope  you  will 
marry  well." 

"I  hope  I  shall;  but  I  can  tell  you  this,  that,  if  I  do 
make  a  mistake,  at  all  events,  my  husband  will  find  that 
he  has  made  a  mistake  also.  There's  a  little  lurking  devil 
in  me,  which,  if  roused  up  by  bad  treatment,  would,  I 
expect,  make  me  more  than  a  match  for  him.     I'm  almost 


2oo  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  or, 

sorry  that  I've  so  much  money  of  my  own,  for  I  suspect 
every  man  who  says  anything  pretty  to  me  •  and  there 
are  but  few  in  this  world  who  would  scorn  to  marry  for 
money." 

"  I  believe  so,  Melissa;  but  your  person  would  be  quite 
sufficient  without  fortune." 

"  Thanks,  coz. ;  for  a  woman,  that's  very  handsome 
of  you.     And  so  now  we  will  begin  our  new  book." 

Miss  Melissa  now  commenced  reading  ;  and  Spikeman, 
who  had  not  yet  seen  the  faces  of  the  two  young  ladies, 
crept  softly  nearer  to  the  side  of  the  copse,  so  as  to  enable 
him  to  satisfy  his  curiosity.  In  this  position  he  remained 
nearly  an  hour,  when  the  book  was  closed,  and  the 
young  ladies  returned  to  the  house,  Melissa  again  singing 
as  she  went. 

"  Joey,"  said  Spikeman,  "  I  did  not  think  that  there 
was  such  a  woman  in  existence  as  that  girl ;  she  is  just 
the  idea  that  I  have  formed  of  what  a  woman  ought  to  be ; 
I  must  find  out  who  she  is ;  I  am  in  love  with  her, 
and " 

"  Mean  to  make  her  a  tinker's  bride,"  replied  Joey, 
laughing. 

"Joey,  I  shall  certainly  knock  you  down,  if  you  apply 
that  term  to  her.  Come,  let  us  go  to  the  village,  it  is  close 
at  hand." 

As  soon  as  they  arrived  at  the  village,  Spikeman  went 
into  the  ale-house.  During  the  remainder  of  the  day,  he 
was  in  a  brown  study,  and  Joey  amused  himself  with  a 
book.  At  nine  o'clock  the  company  had  all  quitted  the 
tap-room,  and  then  Spikeman  entered  into  conversation 
with  the  hostess.  In  the  course  of  conversation,  she 
informed  him  that  the  mansion  belonged  to  Squire 
Mathews,  who  had  formerly  been  a  great  manufacturer,  and 
who  had  purchased  the  place  ;  that  the  old  gentleman  had 
long  suffered  from  the  gout,  and  saw  no  company,  which  was 
very  bad  for  the  village  ;  that  Miss  Melissa  was  his  daughter, 
and  he  had  a  son,  who  was  with  his  regiment  in  India,  and, 
it  was  said,  not  on  very  good  terms  with  his  father  j  that 


The  Poacher  201 

the  old  gentleman  was  violent  and  choleric  because  he  was 
always  in  pain,  but  that  every  one  spoke  well  of  Miss 
Melissa  and  Miss  Araminta,  her  cousin,  who  were  both 
very  kind  to  the  poor  people.  Having  obtained  these 
particulars,  Spikeman  went  to  bed  ;  he  slept  little  that 
night,  as  Joey,  who  was  his  bedfellow,  could  vouch  for  : 
for  he  allowed  Joey  no  sleep  either,  turning  and  twisting 
round  in  the  bed  every  two  minutes.  The  next  morning 
they  arose  early  and  proceeded  on  their  way. 

"  Joey,"  said  Spikeman,  after  an  hour's  silence,  "  I  have 
been  thinking  a  great  deal  last  night." 

"  So  I  suppose,  for  you  certainly  were  not  sleeping." 

"  No,  I  could  not  sleep  j  the  fact  is,  Joey,  I  am 
determined  to  have  that  girl,  Miss  Mathews,  if  I  can ;  a 
bold  attempt  for  a  tinker,  you  will  say,  but  not  for  a 
gentleman  born  as  I  was.  I  thought  I  never  should  care 
for  a  woman  ;  but  there  is  a  current  in  the  affairs  of  men. 
I  shall  now  drift  with  the  current,  and  if  it  leads  to 
fortune,  so  much  the  better  ;  if  not,  he  who  dares  greatly, 
does  greatly.  I  feel  convinced  that  I  should  make  her  a 
good  husband,  and  it  shall  not  be  my  fault  if  I  do  not 
gain  her." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  propose  in  form  with  your  foot  on 
your  wheel  ? " 

"  No,  saucebox,  I  don't ;  but  I  mean  to  turn  my  knife- 
grinder's  wheel  into  a  wheel  of  fortune ;  and,  with  your 
help,  I  will  do  so." 

"  You  are  sure  of  my  help,  if  you  are  serious,"  replied 
Joey  ;  "  but  how  you  are  to  manage  I  cannot  comprehend." 

"  I  have  already  made  out  a  programme,  although  the 
interweaving  of  the  plot  is  not  yet  decided  upon  j  but  I 
must  get  to  the  next  town  as  fast  as  I  can,  as  I  must  make 
preparations." 

On  arrival,  they  took  up  humble  quarters  as  usual ;  and 
then  Spikeman  went  to  a  stationer's,  and  told  them  that  he 
had  got  a  commission  to  execute  for  a  lady.  He  bought 
sealing-wax,  a  glass  seal,  with  "  Esperance  "  as  a  motto, 
gilt-edged  note-paper,  and  several  other  requisites  in  the 


202  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

stationery  line,  and  ordered  them  to  be  packed  up  carefully, 
that  he  might  not  soil  them ;  he  then  purchased  scented 
soap,  a  hair-brush,  and  other  articles  for  the  toilet ;  and 
having  obtained  all  these  requisites,  he  added  to  them  one 
or  two  pair  of  common  beaver  gloves,  and  then  went  to 
the  barber's  to  get  his  hair  cut. 

"  I  am  all  ready  now,  Joey,"  said  he,  when  he  returned 
to  the  ale-house ;  "  and  to-morrow  we  retrace  our  steps." 

"  What !  back  to  the  village  ? " 

"  Yes  *,  and  where  we  shall  remain  some  time  perhaps." 

On  reaching  the  village  next  morning,  Spikeman  hired 
a  bedroom,  and,  leaving  Joey  to  work  the  grindstone, 
remained  in  his  apartments.  When  Joey  returned  in  the 
evening,  he  found  Spikeman  had  been  very  busy  with  the 
soap,  and  had  restored  his  hands  to  something  like  their 
proper  colour  ;  he  had  also  shaved  himself,  and  washed 
his  hair  clean  and  brushed  it  well. 

"  You  see,  Joey,  I  have  commenced  operations  already  : 
I  shall  soon  be  prepared  to  act  the  part  of  the  gentleman 
who  has  turned  tinker  to  gain  the  love  of  a  fair  lady  of 
high  degree." 

"  I  wish  you  success  ;  but  what  are  your  plans  ?  " 

"  That  you  will  find  out  to-morrow  morning  \  now  we 
must  go  to  bed." 


Chapter  XXX 

Plotting,  reading,  and  writing. 

Spikeman  was  up  early  the  next  morning.  When  they 
had  breakfasted,  he  desired  Joey  to  go  for  the  knife- 
grinder's  wheel,  and  follow  him.  As  soon  as  they  were 
clear  of  the  village,  Spikeman  said,  "  It  will  not  do  to 
remain  at  the  village ;  there's  a  cottage  half  a  mile  down 
the  road,  where  they  once  gave  me  a  lodging  ;  we  must 
try  if  we  can  get  it  now." 

When  they  arrived  at  the  cottage,  Spikeman  made  a  very 


The  Poacher  203 

satisfactory  bargain  for  board  and  lodging  for  a  few  days, 
stating  that  they  charged  so  much  at  the  village  ale-house 
that  he  could  not  afford  to  stay  there,  and  that  he  expected 
to  have  a  good  job  at  Squire  Mathews's,  up  at  the 
mansion-house.  As  soon  as  this  arrangement  was  com- 
pleted, they  returned  back  to  the  copse  near  to  the  mansion- 
house,  Joey  rolling  the  knife-grinder's  wheel. 

"  You  see,  Joey,"  said  Spikeman,  "  the  first  thing 
necessary  will  be  to  stimulate  curiosity  ;  we  may  have  to 
wait  a  day  or  two  before  the  opportunity  may  occur,  but, 
if  necessary,  I  will  wait  a  month.  That  Miss  Mathews 
will  very  often  be  found  on  the  seat  by  the  copse,  either 
alone  or  with  her  cousin,  I  take  to  be  certain,  as  all  ladies 
have  their  favourite  retreats.  I  do  not  intend  that  they 
should  see  me  yet ;  I  must  make  an  impression  first. 
Now,  leave  the  wheel  on  the  outside,  and  come  with  me  ; 
do  not  speak." 

As  soon  as  they  were  in  the  copse,  Spikeman  recon- 
noitred very  carefully,  to  ascertain  if  either  of  the  young 
ladies  were  on  the  bench,  and  finding  no  one  there,  he 
returned  to  Joey. 

"  They  cannot  come  without  our  hearing  their  foot- 
steps," said  Spikeman ;  "  so  now  we  must  wait  here 
patiently." 

Spikeman  threw  himself  down  on  the  turf  in  front  of  the 
copse,  and  Joey  followed  his  example. 

"  Come,  Joey,  we  may  as  well  read  a  little  to  pass  away 
the  time  ;  I  have  brought  two  volumes  of  Byron  with 
me." 

For  half  an  hour  they  were  thus  occupied,  when  they 
heard  the  voice  of  Miss  Mathews  singing  as  before  as  she 
came  down  the  walk.  Spikeman  rose  and  peeped  through 
the  foliage.  "  She  is  alone,"  said  he,  "  which  is  just  what 
I  wished.  Now,  Joey,  I  am  going  to  read  to  you  aloud." 
Spikeman  then  began  to  read  in  the  masterly  style  which 
we  have  before  referred  to : — 

"  '  I  loved,  and  was  beloved  again ; 
They  tell  me,  Sir,  you  never  knew 


204  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

Those  gentle  frailties :  if  'tis  true, 

I  shorten  all  my  joys  and  pain, 

To  you  'twould  seem  absurd  as  vain: 

But  all  now  are  not  born  to  reign, 

Or  o'er  their  passions,  or  as  you 

There,  o'er  themselves  and  nations  too. 

I  am,  or  rather  was,  a  Prince, 

A  chief  of  thousands,  and  could  lead 

Them  on  when  each  would  foremost  bleed, 

But  would  not  o'er  myself  assume 

The  like  control.     But  to  resume : 

I  loved,  and  was  beloved  again ; 

In  sooth  it  is  a  happy  doom — 

But  yet  where  happiness  ends  in  pain.' 

"  I  am  afraid  that  is  but  too  true,  my  dear  boy,"  said 
Spikeman,  laying  down  the  book  ;  "  Shakespeare  has  most 
truly  said,  '  The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth.' 
Nay,  he  cannot  be  said  to  be  original  in  that  idea,  for 
Horace  and  most  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  poets  have  said 
much  the  same  thing  before  him  j  however,  let  us  go  on 
again— 

"  '  We  met  in  secret,  and  the  hour 
Which  led  me  to  my  lady's  bower 
Was  fiery  expectation's  dower ; 
The  days  and  nights  were  nothing — all 
Except  the  hour  which  doth  recall 
In  the  long  lapse  from  youth  to  age, 
No  other  like  itself.' 

"  Do  you  observe  the  extreme  beauty  of  that  passage  ?  " 
said  Spikeman. 

"  Yes,"  said  Joey,  "  it  is  very  beautiful." 

"  You  would  more  feel  the  power  of  it,  my  dear  boy, 
if  you  were  in  love,  but  your  time  is  not  yet  come ;  but  I 
am  afraid  we  must  leave  off  now,  for  I  expect  letters  of 
consequence  by  the  post,  and  it  is  useless,  I  fear,  waiting 
here.  Come,  put  the  book  by,  and  let  us  take  up  the 
wheel  of  my  sad  fortunes." 

Spikeman  and  Joey  rose  on  their  feet.  Joey  went  to 
the  knife-grinder's  wheel,  and  Spikeman  followed  him 
without  looking  back ;  he  heard  a  rustling,  nevertheless, 


The  Poacher  205 

among  the  bushes,  which  announced  to  him  that  his 
manoeuvre  had  succeeded  ;  and,  as  soon  as  he  was  about 
fifty  yards  from  the  road,  he  took  the  wheel  from  Joey, 
desiring  him  to  look  back,  as  if  accidentally.  Joey  did  so, 
and  saw  Miss  Mathews  following  them  with  her  eyes. 

"  That  will  do,"  observed  Spikeman  ;  "  her  curiosity  is 
excited,  and  that  is  all  I  wish." 

What  Spikeman  said  was  correct.  Araminta  joined 
Miss  Mathews  shortly  after  Spikeman  and  Joey  had  gone 
away. 

"  My  dear  Araminta,"  said  Melissa,  "  such  an  adventure! 
I  can  hardly  credit  my  senses." 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter,  dear  cousin  ? 

"  Do  you  see  that  man  and  boy,  with  a  knife-grinder's 
wheel,  just  in  sight  now  ? " 

"Yes,  to  be  sure  I  do  ;  but  what  of  them  ?  Have  they 
been  insolent  ? " 

"  Insolent !  they  never  saw  me ;  they  had  no  idea  that 
I  was  here.  I  heard  voices  as  I  came  down  the  walk,  so  I 
moved  softly,  and  when  I  gained  the  seat,  there  was  some- 
body reading  poetry  so  beautifully  ;  I  never  heard  any  one 
read  with  such  correct  emphasis  and  clear  pronunciation. 
And  then  he  stopped,  and  talked  to  the  boy  about  the 
Greek  and  Latin  poets,  and  quoted  Shakspeare.  There 
must  be  some  mystery." 

"Well,  but  if  there  is,  what  has  that  to  do  with  the 
travelling  tinkers  ? " 

"What!  why  it  was  the  travelling  tinker  himself, 
dearest ;  but  he  cannot  be  a  tinker ;  for  I  heard  him  say 
that  he  expected  letters  of  consequence,  and  no  travelling 
tinker  could  do  that." 

"  Why,  no ;  I  doubt  if  most  of  them  can  read  at  all." 

"  Now,  I  would  give  my  little  finger  to  know  who  that 
person  is." 

"  Did  you  see  his  face  ?" 

"  No ;  he  never  turned  this  way ;  the  boy  did  when 
they  were  some  distance  off.     It's  very  strange." 

"What  was  he  reading  ? " 


206  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

"  I  don't  know  ;  it  was  very  beautiful.  I  wonder  if  he 
will  ever  come  this  way  again  !  if  he  does " 

"  Well,  Melissa,  and  if  he  does  ? " 

"  My  scissors  want  grinding  very  badly  j  they  won't 
cut  a  bit." 

"  Why,  Melissa,  you  don't  mean  to  fall  ia  love  with  a 
tinker  ?  "  said  Araminta,  laughing. 

"He  is  no  tinker,  I'm  surej  but  why  is  he  disguised? 
I  should  like  to  know." 

"Well,  but  I  came  out  to  tell  you  that  your  father 
wants  you.     Come  along." 

The  two  young  ladies  then  returned  to  the  house,  but 
the  mystery  of  the  morning  was  broached  more  than  once, 
and  canvassed  in  every  possible  way. 

Spikeman,  as  soon  as  he  had  returned  to  the  cottage, 
took  out  his  writing  materials  to  concoct  an  epistle.  After 
some  time  in  correcting,  he  made  out  a  fair  copy,  which 
he  read  to  Joey. 

"  *  I  tremble  lest  at  the  first  moment  you  cast  your  eyes 
over  the  page,  you  throw  it  away  without  deigning  to 
peruse  it ;  and  yet  there  is  nothing  in  it  which  could  raise 
a  blush  on  the  cheek  of  a  modest  maiden.  If  it  be  a  crime 
to  have  seen  you  by  chance,  to  have  watched  you  by 
stealth,  to  consider  hallowed  every  spot  you  visit — nay, 
more,  if  it  be  a  crime  to  worship  at  the  shrine  of  beauty 
and  of  innocence,  or,  to  speak  more  boldly,  to  adore  you — 
then  am  I  guilty.  You  will  ask,  why  I  resort  to  a 
clandestine  step.  Simply,  because,  when  I  discovered 
your  name  and  birth,  I  felt  assured  that  an  ancient  feud 
between  the  two  families,  to  which  nor  you  nor  I  were 
parties,  would  bar  an  introduction  to  your  father's  house. 
You  would  ask  me  who  I  am.  A  gentleman,  I  trust,  by 
birth  and  education ;  a  poor  one,  I  grant  j  and  you  have 
made  me  poorer,  for  you  have  robbed  me  of  more  than 
wealth — my  peace  of  mind  and  my  happiness.  I  feel  that 
I  am  presumptuous  and  bold  ;  but  forgive  me.  Your  eyes 
tell  me  you  are  too  kind,  too  good,  to  give  unnecessary 
pain ;  and  if  you  knew  how  much  I  have  already  suffered, 


The  Poacher  207 

you  would  not  oppress  further  a  man  who  was  happy 
until  he  saw  you.  Pardon  me,  therefore,  my  boldness, 
and  excuse  the  means  I  have  taken  of  placing  this 
communication  before  you.' 

"That  will  do,  I  think,"  said  Spikeman ;  "and  now, 
Joey,  we  will  go  out  and  take  a  walk,  and  I  will  give  you 
your  directions." 


Chapter  XXXI 

In  which  the  plot  thickens. 

The  next  day  our  hero,  having  received  the  letter  with 
his  instructions,  went  with  the  wheel  down  to  the  copse 
near  to  the  mansion-house.  Here  he  remained  quietly  until 
he  heard  Miss  Melissa  coming  down  the  gravel-walk ;  he 
waited  till  she  had  time  to  gain  her  seat,  and  then,  leaving 
his  wheel  outside,  he  walked  round  the  copse  until  he 
came  to  her.  She  raised  her  eyes  from  her  book  when 
she  saw  him. 

"  If  you  please,  miss,  have  you  any  scissors  or  knives 
for  me  to  grind  ?  "  said  Joey,  bowing  with  his  hat  in  his 
hand. 

Miss  Mathews  looked  earnestly  at  Joey. 

"Who  are  you?"  said  she  at  last;  "are  you  the  boy 
who  was  on  this  road  with  a  knife-grinder  and  his  wheel 
yesterday  afternoon  ? " 

"  Yes,  madam,  we  came  this  way,"  replied  Joey,  bowing 
again  very  politely. 

"Is  he  your  father  ? " 

"  No,  madam,  he  is  my  uncle ;  he  is  not  married." 

"  Your  uncle.  Well,  I  have  a  pair  of  scissors  to  grind, 
and  I  will  go  for  them ;  you  may  bring  your  wheel  in 
here,  as  I  wish  to  see  how  you  grind." 

"  Certainly,  miss,  with  the  greatest  pleasure." 

Joey  brought  in  his  wheel,  and  observing  that  Miss 
Mathews  had  left  her  book  on  the  seat,  he  opened  it  at 


208  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

the  marked  page  and  slipped  the  letter  in ;  and  scarcely 
had  done  so,  when  he  perceived  Miss  Mathews  and  her 
cousin  coming  towards  him. 

"  Here  are  the  scissors ;  mind  you  make  them  cut 
well." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,  miss,"  replied  Joey,  who  immediately 
set  to  work. 

"  Have  you  been  long  at  this  trade  ? "  said  Miss 
Mathews. 

"No,  miss,  not  very  long." 

"  And  your  uncle,  has  he  been  long  at  it  ? " 

Joey  hesitated  on  purpose.  "Why,  I  really  don't  know 
exactly  how  long." 

"  Why  is  your  uncle  not  with  you  ? " 

"He  was  obliged  to  go  to  town,  miss — that  is,  to  a 
town  at  some  distance  from  here — on  business." 

"  Why,  what  business  can  a  tinker  have  ? "  inquired 
Araminta. 

"I  suppose  he  wanted  some  soft  solder,  miss  j  he 
requires  a  great  deal." 

"  Can  you  write  and  read,  boy  ?"  inquired  Melissa. 

"Me,  miss!  how  should  I  know  how  to  write  and 
read  ? "  replied  Joey,  looking  up. 

"  Have  you  been  much  about  here  ? " 

"  Yes,  miss,  a  good  deal ;  uncle  seems  to  like  this  part  •, 
We  never  were  so  long  before.  The  scissors  are  done 
now,  miss,  and  they  will  cut  very  well.  Uncle  was  in 
hopes  of  getting  some  work  at  the  mansion-house  when  he 
came  back." 

"  Can  your  uncle  write  and  read  ? " 

"  I  believe  he  can  a  little,  miss." 

"  What  do  I  owe  you  for  the  scissors  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  miss,  if  you  please  ;  I  had  rather  not  take 
anything  from  you." 

"  And  why  not  from  me  ?  " 

"  Because  I  never  worked  for  so  pretty  a  lady  before. 
Wish  you  good-morning,  ladies,"  said  Joey,  taking  up  his 
wheel  and  rolling  it  away. 


The  Poacher  209 

"  Well,  Araminta,  what  do  you  think  now  ?  That's  no 
knife-grinder's  boy  ;  he  is  as  well-bred  and  polite  as  any 
lad  I  ever  saw." 

*'  I  suspect  that  he  is  a  little  story-teller,  saying  that  he 
could  not  write  and  read,"  Araminta  replied. 

"  And  so  do  I ;  what  made  him  in  such  a  hurry  to  go 
away  ? " 

"  I  suppose  he  did  not  like  our  questions.  I  wonder 
whether  the  uncle  will  come.  Well,  Melissa,  I  must  not 
quit  your  father  just  now,  so  I  must  leave  you  with  your 
book  ; "  and,  so  saying,  Araminta  took  her  way  to  the 
house. 

Miss  Mathews  was  in  a  reverie  for  some  minutes  ;  Joey's 
behaviour  had  puzzled  her  almost  as  much  as  what  she 
had  overheard  the  day  before.  At  last  she  opened  the 
book,  and,  to  her  great  astonishment,  beheld  the  letter. 
She  started — looked  at  it — it  was  addressed  to  her.  She 
demurred  at  first  whether  she  should  open  it.  It  must 
have  been  put  there  by  the  tinker's  boy — it  was  evidently 
no  tinker's  letter ;  it  must  be  a  love-letter,  and  she  ought 
not  to  read  it.  There  was  something,  however,  so  very 
charming  in  the  whole  romance  of  the  affair,  if  it  should 
turn  out,  as  she  suspected,  that  the  tinker  should  prove 
a  gentleman  who  had  fallen  in  love  with  her  and  had 
assumed  the  disguise.  Melissa  wanted  an  excuse  to 
herself  for  opening  the  letter.  At  last  she  said  to  herself, 
"Who  knows  but  what  it  may  be  a  petition  from  some 
poor  person  or  another  who  is  in  distress  ?  I  ought  to 
read  it  at  all  events." 

Had  it  proved  to  be  a  petition,  Miss  Melissa  would  have 
been  terribly  disappointed.  "  It  certainly  is  very  respect- 
ful," thought  Melissa,  after  she  had  read  it,  "  but  I  cannot 
reply  to  it  j  that  would  never  do.  There  certainly  is 
nothing  I  can  take  offence  at.  It  must  be  the  tinker  him- 
self, I  am  sure  of  that ;  but  still  he  does  not  say  so. 
Well,  I  don't  know,  but  I  feel  very  anxious  as  to  what 
this  will  come  to.  O,  it  can  come  to  nothing,  for  I  cannot 
love  a  man  I  have  never  seen,  and  I  would  not  admit  a 
J.R.  o 


12 1  o  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

stranger  to  an  interview ;  that's  quite  decided.  I  must 
show  the  letter  to  Araminta.  Shall  I  ?  I  don't  know,  she 
is  so  particular,  so  steady,  and  would  be  talking  of 
propriety,  and  prudence  ;  it  would  vex  her  so,  and  put  her 
quite  in  a  fever,  she  would  be  so  unhappy  ;  no,  it  would 
be  cruel  to  say  anything  to  her,  she  would  fret  so  about 
it ;  I  won't  tell  her  until  I  think  it  absolutely  necessary. 
It  is  a  very  gentlemanlike  hand,  and  elegant  language  too ; 
but  still  I'm  not  going  to  carry  on  a  secret  correspondence 
with  a  tinker.  It  must  be  the  tinker.  What  an  odd  thing 
altogether  !  What  can  his  name  be  ?  An  old  family 
quarrel,  too.  Why  it's  a  Romeo  and  Juliet  affair,  only 
Romeo's  a  tinker.  Well,  one  mask  is  as  good  as  another. 
He  acknowledges  himself  poor,  I  like  that  of  him,  there's 
something  so  honest  in  it.  Well,  after  all,  it  will  be  a 
little  amusement  to  a  poor  girl  like  me,  shut  up  from  year's 
^nd  to  year's  end,  with  opodeldocs  always  in  my  nose  •,  so 
I  will  see  what  the  end  of  it  may  be,"  thought  Melissa, 
rising  from  her  seat  to  go  into  the  house,  and  putting  the 
letter  into  her  pocket. 

Joey  went  back  to  Spikeman  and  reported  pro- 
gress. 

"  That's  all  I  wish,  Joey,"  said  Spikeman  ;  "  now  you 
must  not  go  there  to-morrow  ;  we  must  let  it  work  a 
little  ;  if  she  is  at  all  interested  in  the  letter,  she  will  be 
impatient  to  know  more." 

Spikeman  was  right.  Melissa  looked  up'  and  down  the 
road  very  often  during  the  next  day,  and  was  rather 
silent  during  the  evening.  The  second  day  after,  Joey, 
having  received  his  instructions,  set  off,  with  his  knife- 
grinder's  wheel,  for  the  mansion-house.  When  he  went 
round  the  copse  where  the  bench  was,  he  found  Miss 
Mathews  there. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  miss,  but  do  you  think  there  is 
any  work  at  the  house  ?  " 

"Come  here,  sir,"  said  Melissa,  assuming  a  very 
dignified  air. 

"  Yes,  miss,"  said  Joey,  walking  slowly  to  her. 


The  Poacher  211 

"  Now,  tell  me  the  truth,  and  I  will  reward  you  with 
half-a-crown." 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  Did  you  not  put  this  letter  in  my  book  the  day  before 
yesterday  ?  " 

"  Letter,  miss  !  what  letter  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  deny  it,  for  you  know  you  did  ;  and  if  you 
don't  tell  me  the  truth,  my  father  is  a  magistrate,  and  I'll 
have  you  punished." 

"  I  was  told  not  to  tell,"  replied  Joey,  pretending  to  be 
frightened. 

"  But  you  must  tell ;  yes,  and  tell  me  immediately." 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  angry,  miss." 

"  No  ;  not  if  you  tell  the  truth." 

"  I  don't  exactly  know,  miss,  but  a  gentleman " 

"  What  gentleman  ? " 

"  A  gentleman  that  came  to  uncle,  miss." 

"  A  gentleman  that  came  to  your  uncle  ;  well,  go  on." 

"  I  suppose  he  wrote  the  letter,  but  I'm  not  sure  ;  and 
uncle  gave  me  the  letter  to  put  it  where  you  might  see 
it." 

"  O,  then,  a  gentleman,  you  say,  gave  your  uncle  this 
letter,  and  your  uncle  gave  it  to  you  to  bring  to  me.  Is 
that  it  ?  " 

"Uncle  gave  me  the  letter,  but  I  dare  say  uncle  will 
tell  you  all  about  it,  and  who  the  gentleman  was." 

"  Is  your  uncle  come  back  ?  " 

"  He  comes  back  to-night,  madam." 

"  You're  sure  your  uncle  did  not  write  the  letter  ? " 

"  La,  miss  !  uncle  write  such  a  letter  as  that — and  to 
a  lady  like  you — that  would  be  odd  !  " 

"  Very  odd,  indeed  ! "  replied  Miss  Melissa,  who  re- 
mained a  minute  or  two  in  thought.  "  Well,  my  lad," 
said  she  at  last,  "  I  must  and  will  know  who  has  had 
the  boldness  to  write  this  letter  to  me  ;  and  as  your  uncle 
knows,  you  will  bring  him  here  to-morrow,  that  I  may 
inquire  about  it ;  and  let  him  take  care  that  he  tells  the 
truth." 


212  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

"  Yes,  miss  ;  I  will  tell  him  as  soon  as  he  comes  home. 
I  hope  you  are  not  angry  with  me,  miss  ;  I  did  not  think 
there  was  any  harm  in  putting  into  the  book  such  a  nice 
clean  letter  as  that." 

"  No,  I  am  not  angry  with  you  ;  your  uncle  is  more  to 
blame ;  I  shall  expect  him  to-morrow  about  this  time. 
You  may  go  now." 


Chapter  XXXII 

In  which  the  tinker  makes  love. 

Joey  made  his  obeisance,  and  departed  as  if  he  was 
frightened.  Miss  Melissa  watched  him :  at  last  she 
thought,  "  Tinker  or  no  tinker  ?  that  is  the  question. 
No  tinker,  for  a  cool  hundred,  as  my  father  would  say  ; 
for,  no  tinker's  boy,  no  tinker,  and  that  is  no  tinker's 
boy.  How  clever  of  him  to  say  that  the  letter  was  given 
him  by  a  gentleman  !  Now  I  can  send  to  him  to  interrogate 
him,  and  have  an  interview  without  any  offence  to  my 
feelings  ;  and  if  he  is  disguised,  as  I  feel  confident  that  he 
is,  I  shall  soon  discover  it." 

Miss  Melissa  Mathews  did  not  sleep  that  night;  and 
at  the  time  appointed  she  was  sitting  on  the  bench  with 
all  the  assumed  dignity  of  a  newly-made  magistrate. 
Spikeman  and  Joey  were  not  long  before  they  made  their 
appearance.  Spikeman  was  particularly  clean  and  neat, 
although  he  took  care  to  wear  the  outward  appearance  of 
a  tinker  j  his  hands  were,  by  continual  washing  in  hot 
water,  very  white,  and  he  had  paid  every  attention  to  his 
person,  except  in  wearing  his  rough  and  sullied  clothes. 

"  My  boy  tells  me,  miss,  that  you  wish  to  speak  to 
me,"  said  Spikeman,  assuming  the  air  of  a  vulgar  man. 

"I  did,  friend,"  said  Melissa,  after  looking  at  Spike- 
man for  a  few  minutes  j  "  a  letter  has  been  brought  here 
clandestinely,  and  your  boy  confesses  that  he  received  it 
from  you ;  now,  I  wish  to  know  how  you  came  by  it." 


The  Poacher  213 

"  Boy,  go  away  to  a  distance,"  said  Spikeman,  very 
angrily;  "if  you  can't  keep  one  secret,  at  alJ  events  you 
shall  not  hear  any  more." 

Joey  retreated,  as  had  been  arranged  between  them. 

"  Well,  madam,  or  miss  (I  suppose,  miss),"  said  Spike- 
man,  "  that  letter  was  written  by  a  gentleman  that  loves 
the  very  ground  you  tread  upon." 

"  And  he  requested  it  to  be  delivered  to  me  ?  " 

"He  did,  miss;  and  if  you  knew,  as  I  do,  how  he 
loves  you,  you  would  not  be  surprised  at  his  taking  so 
bold  a  step." 

"lam  surprised  at  your  taking  so  bold  a  step,  Tinker, 
as  to  send  it  by  your  boy." 

"  It  was  a  long  while  before  I  would  venture,  miss ; 
but  when  he  had  told  me  what  he  did,  I  really  could  not 
help  doing  so ;  for  I  pitied  him,  and  so  would  you,  if  you 
knew  all." 

"  And,  pray,  what  did  he  tell  you  ? " 

"  He  told  me,  miss,"  said  Spikeman,  who  had  gradually 
assumed  his  own  manner  of  speaking,  "  that  he  had  ever 
rejected  the  thoughts  of  matrimony — that  he  rose  up  every 
morning  thanking  Heaven  that  he  was  free  and  inde- 
pendent— that  he  had  scorned  the  idea  of  ever  being 
captivated  with  the  charms  of  a  woman ;  but  that  one 
day  he  had  by  chance  passed  down  this  road,  and  had 
heard  you  singing  as  you  were  coming  down  to  repose 
on  this  bench.  Captivated  by  your  voice,  curiosity  induced 
him  to  conceal  himself  in  the  copse  behind  us,  and  from 
thence  he  had  a  view  of  your  person ;  nay,  miss,  he  told 
me  more,  that  he  had  played  the  eavesdropper,  and  heard 
all  your  conversation,  free  and  unconstrained  as  it  was 
from  the  supposition  that  you  were  alone ;  he  heard  you 
express  your  sentiments  and  opinions,  and  finding  that 
there  was  on  this  earth  what,  in  his  scepticism,  he  thought 
never  to  exist — youth,  beauty,  talent,  principle,  and  family, 
all  united  in  one  person — he  had  bowed  at  the  shrine, 
and  had  become  a  silent  and  unseen  worshipper." 

Spikeman  stopped  speaking. 


214  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

"  Then,  it  appears  that  this  gentleman,  as  you  style 
him,  has  been  guilty  of  the  ungentlemanly  practice  of 
listening  to  private  conversation — no  very  great  recom- 
mendation." 

"  Such  was  not  his  intention  at  first ;  he  was  seduced 
to  it  by  you.  Do  not  blame  him  for  that — now  that  I 
have  seen  you,  I  cannot ;  but,  miss,  he  told  me  more.  He 
said  that  he  felt  that  he  was  unworthy  of  you,  and  had 
not  a  competence  to  offer  you,  even  if  he  could  obtain 
your  favour  ;  that  he  discovered  that  there  was  a  cause 
which  prevented  his  gaining  an  introduction  to  your 
family ;  in  fact,  that  he  was  hopeless  and  despairing.  He 
had  hovered  near  you  for  a  long  time,  for  he  could  not 
leave  the  air  you  breathed  j  and,  at  last,  that  he  had 
resolved  to  set  his  life  upon  the  die  and  stake  the  hazard. 
Could  I  refuse  him,  miss  ?  He  is  of  an  old  family,  but 
not  wealthy ;  he  is  a  gentleman  by  birth  and  education, 
and  therefore  I  did  not  think  I  was  doing  so  very  wrong 
in  giving  him  the  chance,  trifling  as  it  might  be.  I  beg 
your  pardon,  madam,  if  I  have  offended  ;  and  any  message 
you  may  have  to  deliver  to  him,  harsh  as  it  may  be — nay, 
even  if  it  should  be  his  death — it  shall  be  faithfully  and 
truly  delivered." 

"When  shall  you  see  him,  Master  Tinker?"  said 
Melissa,  very  gravely. 

"  In  a  week  he  will  be  here,  he  said,  not  before." 

"  Considering  he  is  so  much  in  love,  he  takes  his  time," 
replied  Melissa  "  Well,  Master  Tinker,  you  may  tell  him 
from  me  that  I've  no  answer  to  give  him.  It  is  quite 
ridiculous,  as  well  as  highly  improper,  that  I  should  receive 
a  letter  or  answer  one  from  a  person  whom  I  never  saw. 
I  admit  his  letter  to  be  respectful,  or  I  should  have  sent  a 
much  harsher  message." 

"  Your  commands  shall  be  obeyed,  miss  ;  that  is,  if  you 
cannot  be  persuaded  to  see  him  for  one  minute." 

"  Most  certainly  not ;  I  see  no  gentleman  who  is  not 
received  at  my  father's  house,  and  properly  presented  to 
me.     It  may  be  the  custom  among  people  in  your  station 


The  Poacher  215 

of  life,  Master  Tinker,  but  not  in  mine ;  and,  as  for  your- 
self, I  recommend  you  not  to  attempt  to  bring  another 
letter." 

"  I  must  request  your  pardon  for  my  fault,  miss  ;  may  I 
ask,  after  I  have  seen  the  poor  young  gentleman,  am  I  to 
report  to  you  what  takes  place  ? " 

"  Yes,  if  it  is  to  assure  me  that  I  shall  be  no  more 
troubled  with  his  addresses." 

"  You  shall  be  obeyed,  miss,"  continued  Spikeman ; 
then,  changing  his  tone  and  air,  he  said,  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  have  you  any  knives  or  scissors  to  grind  ? " 

"  No,"  replied  Melissa,  jumping  up  from  her  seat,  and 
walking  towards  the  house  to  conceal  her  mirth.  Shortly 
afterwards  she  turned  round  to  look  if  Spikeman  was  gone ; 
he  had  remained  near  the  seat  with  his  eyes  following  her 
footsteps.  "  I  could  love  that  man,"  thought  Melissa, 
as  she  walked  on.  "  What  an  eye  he  has,  and  what 
eloquence  !  I  shall  run  away  with  a  tinker,  I  do  believe ; 
but  it  is  my  destiny.  Why  does  he  say  a  week,  a  whole 
week  ?  But  how  easy  to  see  through  his  disguise !  He 
had  the  stamp  of  a  gentleman  upon  him.  Dear  me,  I 
wonder  how  this  is  to  end  !  I  must  not  tell  Araminta  yet ; 
she  would  be  fldgetted  out  of  her  wits.  How  foolish  of 
me  !  I  quite  forgot  to  ask  the  name  of  this  gentleman.  FU 
not  forget  it  next  time." 


Chapter  XXXIII 

Well  done,  tinker. 

"  It  is  beyond  my  hopes,  Joey,"  said  Spikeman,  as  they 
went  back  to  the  cottage ;  "  she  knows  well  enough  that 
I  was  pleading  for  myself  and  not  for  another,  and  she 
has  said  quite  as  much  as  my  most  sanguine  wishes  could 
desire  5  in  fact,  she  has  given  me  permission  to  come  again, 
and  report  the  result  of  her  message  to  the  non-existent 
gentleman,  which  is  equal  to  an  assignation.     I  have  no 


2 1 6  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

doubt  now  I  shall  ultimately  succeed,  and  I  must  make 
my  preparations ;  I  told  her  that  I  should  not  be  able  to 
deliver  her  message  for  a  week,  and  she  did  not  like  the 
delay,  that  was  clear;  it  will  all  work  in  my  favour;  a 
week's  expectation  will  ripen  the  fruit  more  than  daily 
meetings.  I  must  leave  this  to-night ;  but  you  may  as 
well  stay  here,  for  you  can  be  of  no  use  to  me." 

"  Where  are  you  going  then  ?  " 

"  First  to  Dudstone,  to  take  my  money  out  of  the  bank  ; 
I  have  a  good  sum,  sufficient  to  carry  me  on  for  many 
months  after  our  marriage,  if  I  do  marry  her.  I  shall 
change  my  dress  at  Dudstone,  of  course,  and  then  start 
for  London  by  mail,  and  fit  myself  out  with  a  most 
fashionable  wardrobe,  and  et-ceteras,  come  down  again 
to  Cobhurst,  the  town  we  were  in  the  other  day,  with 
my  portmanteau,  and  from  thence  return  here  in  my 
tinker's  clothes  to  resume  operations.  You  must  not  go 
near  her  during  my  absence." 

"  Certainly  not ;  shall  I  go  out  at  all  ? " 

"  No,  not  with  the  wheel ;  you  might  meet  her  on  the 
road,  and  she  would  be  putting  questions  to  you." 

That  evening  Spikeman  set  off,  and  was  absent  for  five 
days,  when  he  again  made  his  appearance  early  in  the 
morning.  Joey  had  remained  almost  altogether  indoors, 
and  had  taken  that  opportunity  of  writing  to  Mary.  He 
wrote  on  the  day  after  Spikeman's  departure,  as  it  would 
give  ample  time  for  an  answer  before  his  return ;  but 
Joey  received  no  reply  to  his  letter. 

"I  am  all  prepared  now,  my  boy,"  said  Spikeman, 
whose  appearance  was  considerably  improved  by  the 
various  little  personal  arrangements  which  he  had  gone 
through  during  the  time  he  was  in  London.  *'  I  have 
my  money  in  my  pockets,  my  portmanteau  at  Cobhurst, 
and  now  it  depends  upon  the  rapidity  of  my  success  when 
the  day  is  to  come  that  I  make  the  knife-grinder's  wheel 
over  to  you.  I  will  go  down  now,  but  without  you  this 
time." 

Spikeman  set  off  with  his  wheel,  and  soon  arrived  at 


The  Poacher  217 

the  usual  place  of  meeting;  Miss  Mathews,  from  the 
window,  had  perceived  him  coming  down  the  road;  she 
waited  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  she  made  her  appear- 
ance ;  had  not  she  had  her  eyes  on  the  hands  of  the 
timepiece,  and  knew  that  it  was  only  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  she  could  have  sworn  that  it  had  been  two  hours 
at  least.  Poor  girl !  she  had  during  this  week  run  over 
every  circumstance  connected  with  the  meeting  at  least 
a  thousand  times ;  every  word  that  had  been  exchanged 
had  been  engraven  on  her  memory,  and,  without  her 
knowledge  almost,  her  heart  had  imperceptibly  received 
the  impression.  She  walked  down  reading  her  book  very 
attentively  until  she  arrived  at  the  bench. 

"Any  knives  or  scissors  to  grind,  ma'am?"  asked 
Spikeman,  respectfully  coming  forward. 

"  You  here  again,  Master  Tinker  !  Why,  I  had  quite 
forgot  all  about  you." 

(Heaven  preserve  us  !  how  innocent  girls  will  sometimes 
tell  fibs  out  of  modesty  !) 

"It  were  well  for  others,  Miss  Mathews,  if  their 
memory  were  equally  treacherous,"  rejoined  Spikeman. 

"  And  why  so,  pray  ? " 

"  I  speak  of  the  gentleman  to  whom  you  sent  the 
message." 

"  And  what  was  his  reply  to  you  ?  " 

"He  acknowledged,  Miss  Mathews,  the  madness  of 
his  communication  to  you,  the  impossibility  of  your  giving 
him  an  answer,  and  of  your  admitting  him  to  your 
presence.  He  admired  the  prudence  of  your  conduct, 
but,  unfortunately,  his  admiration  only  increased  his  love. 
He  requested  me  to  say  that  he  will  write  no  more." 

"  He  has  done  wisely,  and  I  am  satisfied." 

"  I  would  I  could  say  as  much  for  him,  Miss  Mathews ; 
for  it  is  my  opinion  that  his  very  existence  is  now  so  bound 
up  with  the  possession  of  you,  that  if  he  does  not  succeed 
he  cannot  exist/' 

"  That  is  not  my  fault,"  replied  Melissa,  with  her  eyes 
cast  down. 


218  Joseph  Ruslibrook;  or, 

"  No,  it  is  not.  Still,  Miss  Mathews,  when  it  is  con- 
sidered that  this  man  had  abjured,  I  may  say  had  almost 
despised  women,  it  is  no  small  triumph  to  you,  or  homage 
from  him,  that  you  have  made  him  feel  the  power  of  your 
sex." 

"  It  is  his  just  punishment  for  having  despised  us." 

"Perhaps  so;  yet  if  we  were  all  punished  for  our 
misdeeds,  as  Shakespeare  says,  who  should  escape 
whipping  ? " 

"  Pray,  Master  Tinker,  where  did  you  learn  to  quote 
Shakespeare  ?  " 

"  Where  I  learnt  much  more.  I  was  not  always  a 
travelling  tinker." 

"  So  I  presumed  before  this.  And  pray  how  came  you 
to  be  one  ?  " 

"Miss  Mathews,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  it  arose 
from  an  unfortunate  attachment." 

"  I  have  read  in  the  olden  poets  that  love  would  turn  a 
god  into  a  man ;  but  I  never  heard  of  its  making  him  a 
tinker,"  replied  Melissa,  smiling. 

"  The  immortal  Jove  did  not  hesitate  to  conceal  his 
thunderbolts  when  he  deigned  to  love  ;  and  Cupid  but  too 
often  has  recourse  to  the  aid  of  Proteus  to  secure  success. 
We  have,  therefore,  no  mean  warrantry." 

"  And  who  was  the  lady  of  thy  love,  good  Master 
Tinker  ?  " 

"  She  was,  Miss  Mathews,  like  you  in  everything. 
She  was  as  beautiful,  as  intelligent,  as  honest,  as  proud, 
and,  unfortunately,  she  was,  like  you,  as  obdurate,  which 
reminds  me  of  the  unfortunate  gentleman  whose  emissary 
I  now  am.  In  his  madness  he  requested  me— yes,  Miss 
Mathews,  me — a  poor  tinker — to  woo  you  for  him ;  to 
say  to  you  all  that  he  would  have  said  had  he  been 
admitted  to  your  presence  ;  to  plead  for  him ;  to  kneel  for 
him  at  your  feet,  and  entreat  you  to  have  some  compassion 
for  one  whose  only  misfortune  was  to  love — whose  only 
fault  was  to  be  poor.  What  could  I  say,  Miss  Mathews 
— what  could  I  reply  to  a  person  in  his  state  of  despera- 


The  Poacher  219 

tion  ?  To  reason  with  him,  to  argue  with  him,  had  been 
useless  j  I  could  only  soothe  him  by  making  such  a 
promise,  provided  that  I  was  permitted  to  do  it.  Tell 
me,  Miss  Mathews,  have  I  your  permission  to  make  the 
attempt  ?  " 

"  First,  Mr  Tinker,  I  should  wish  to  know  the  name  of 
this  gentleman." 

"I  promised  not  to  mention  it,  Miss  Mathews,  but  I  can 
evade  the  promise.  I  have  a  book  which  belongs  to  him 
in  my  pocket,  on  the  inside  of  which  are  the  arms  of  his 
family,  with  his  father's  name  underneath  them." 

Spikeman  presented  the  book.  Melissa  read  the  name, 
and  then  laid  it  on  the  bench,  without  saying  a  word. 

"  And  now,  Miss  Mathews,  as  I  have  shown  you  that 
the  gentleman  has  no  wish  to  conceal  who  he  is,  may  I 
venture  to  hope  that  you  will  permit  me  to  plead 
occasionally,  when  I  may  see  you,  in  his  behalf  ?  " 

"I  know  not  what  to  say,  Master  Tinker  ;  I  consider  it 
a  measure  fraught  with  some  danger  both  to  the  gentleman 
and  to  myself.  You  have  quoted  Shakespeare,  allow  me 
now  to  do  the  same — 

'  Friendship  is  constant  in  all  other  things 
Save  in  the  affairs  and  offices  of  love, 
Therefore,  all  hearts,  use  your  own  tongues.' 

You  observe,  Master  Tinker,  that  there  is  the  danger  of 
your  pleading  for  yourself,  and  not  for  your  client ;  and 
there  is  also  the  danger  of  my  being  insensibly  moved  to 
listen  to  the  addresses  of  a  tinker.  Now,  only  reflect  upon 
the  awful  consequences,"  continued  Melissa,  smiling. 

"  I  pledge  you  my  honour,  Miss  Mathews,  that  I  will 
only  plead  for  the  person  whose  name  you  have  read  in 
the  book,  and  that  you  shall  never  be  humiliated  by  the 
importunities  of  a  mender  of  pots  and  pans." 

"  You  pledge  the  honour  of  a  tinker  ;  what  may  that  be 
worth  ?  " 

"  A  tinker  that   has   the    honour   of  conversing  with 


220  Joseph  Rush  brook  ;  or, 

Miss  Mathews  has  an  honour  that  cannot  be  too  highly 
appreciated." 

"  Well,  that  is  very  polite  for  a  mender  of  old  kettles, 
but  the  schoolmaster  is  abroad,  which,  I  presume,  accounts 
for  such  strange  anomalies  as  our  present  conversation. 
I  must  now  wish  you  good  morning." 

"  When  may  I  have  the  honour  of  again  presenting 
myself  in  behalf  of  the  poor  gentleman  ? " 

"  I  can  really  make  no  appointments  with  tinkers," 
replied  Melissa  ;  "  if  you  personate  that  young  man,  you 
must  be  content  to  wait  for  days  or  months  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  hem  of  my  garment ;  to  bay  the  moon  and 
bless  the  stars,  and  I  do  not  know  what  else.  It  is,  in 
short,  catch  me  when  you  can ;  and  now,  farewell,  good 
Master  Tinker,"  replied  Melissa,  leaving  her  own  book, 
and  taking  the  one  Spikeman  had  put  into  her  hand,  which 
she  carried  with  her  to  the  house.  It  was  all  up  with 
Miss  Melissa  Mathews,  that  was  clear. 

We  shall  pass  over  a  fortnight,  during  which  Spikeman, 
at  first  every  other  day,  and  subsequently  every  day  or 
evening,  had  a  meeting  with  Melissa,  in  every  one  of 
which  he  pleaded  his  cause  in  the  third  person.  Joey 
began  to  be  very  tired  of  this  affair,  as  he  remained  idle 
during  the  whole  time,  when  one  morning  Spikeman  told 
him  that  he  must  go  down  to  the  meeting-place  without 
the  wheel,  and  tell  Miss  Mathews  his  uncle,  the  tinker, 
was  ill,  and  not  able  to  come  that  evening. 

Joey  received  his  instructions,  and  went  down  im- 
mediately. Miss  Mathews  was  not  to  be  seen,  and  Joey, 
to  avoid  observation,  hid  himself  in  the  copse,  awaiting  her 
arrival.  At  last  she  came,  accompanied  by  Araminta,  her 
cousin.  As  soon  as  they  had  taken  their  seats  on  the 
bench,  Araminta  commenced :  "  My  dear  Melissa,  I  could 
not  speak  to  you  in  the  house  on  account  of  your  father, 
but  Simpson  has  told  me  this  morning  that  she  thought  it 
her  duty  to  state  to  me,  that  you  have  been  seen,  not  only 
in  the  day-time,  but  late  in  the  evening,  walking  and 
talking   with   a  strange-looking   man.      I  have    thought 


The  Poacher  221 

it  very  odd  that  you  should  not  have  mentioned  this 
mysterious  person  to  me  lately,  but  I  do  think  it  most 
strange  that  you  should  have  been  so  imprudent.  Now, 
tell  me  everything  that  has  happened,  or  I  must  really 
make  it  known  to  your  father." 

"  And  have  me  locked  up  for  months  ;  that's  very  kind 
of  you,  Araminta,"  replied  Melissa. 

"But  consider  what  you  have  been  doing,  Melissa. 
Who  is  this  man  ?  * 

"  A  travelling  tinker,  who  brought  me  a  letter  from  a 
gentleman  who  has  been  so  silly  as  to  fall  in  love  with  me." 

"  And  what  steps  have  you  taken,  cousin  ?  " 

"Postively  refused  to  receive  a  letter,  or  to  see  the 
gentleman.** 

*'  Then  why  does  the  man  come  again  ?  " 

"  To  know  if  we  have  any  knives  or  scissors  to  grind." 

"  Come,  come,  Melissa,  this  is  ridiculous.  All  the 
servants  are  talking  about  it  j  and  you  know  how  servants 
talk.     Why  do  you  continue  to  see  this  fellow  ? " 

"  Because  he  amuses  me,  and  it  is  so  stupid  of  him." 

"  If  that  is  your  only  reason,  you  can  have  no  objection 
to  see  him  no  more,  now  that  scandal  is  abroad.  Will  you 
promise  me  that  you  will  not  ?  Recollect,  dear  Melissa, 
how  imprudent  and  how  unmaidenly  it  is." 

"  Why,  you  don't  think  that  I  am  going  to  elope  with  a 
tinker,  do  you,  cousin  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  not ;  nevertheless,  a  tinker  is  no 
companion  for  Miss  Mathews,  dear  cousin.  Melissa,  you 
have  been  most  imprudent.  How  far  you  have  told  me 
the  truth  I  know  not ;  but  this  I  must  tell  you,  if  you  do 
not  promise  me  to  give  up  this  disgraceful  acquaintance,  I 
will  immediately  acquaint  my  uncle." 

"I  will  not  be  forced  into  any  promise,  Araminta," 
replied  Melissa,  indignantly. 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  not  hurry  you  into  it.  I  will  give 
you  forty-eight  hours  to  reply,  and  if  by  that  time  your 
own  good  sense  does  not  point  out  your  indiscretion,  I 
certainly   will   make   it   known   to   your   father;   that   is 


222  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

decided."  So  saying,  Araminta  rose  from  the  bench  and 
walked  towards  the  house. 

"  Eight-and-forty  hours,"  said  Melissa,  thoughtfully; 
"  it  must  be  decided  by  that  time." 

Joey,  who  had  wit  enough  to  perceive  how  matters 
stood,  made  up  his  mind  not  to  deliver  his  message.  He 
knew  that  Spikeman  was  well,  and  presumed  that  his 
staying  away  was  to  make  Miss  Mathews  more  impatient 
to  see  him.  Melissa  remained  on  the  bench  in  deep 
thought ;  at  last  Joey  went  up  to  her. 

"  You  here,  my  boy !  what  have  you  come  for  ?  "  said 
Melissa. 

"  I  was  strolling  this  way,  madam." 

"  Come  here ;  I  want  you  to  tell  me  the  truth  ;  indeed, 
it  is  useless  to  attempt  to  deceive  me.  Is  that  person  your 
uncle  ? " 

"  No,  miss,  he  is  not." 

"  I  knew  that.  Is  he  not  the  person  who  wrote  the 
letter,  and  a  gentleman  in  disguise  ?  Answer  me  that 
question,  and  then  I  have  a  message  to  him  which  will 
make  him  happy." 

"  He  is  a  gentleman,  miss." 

"  And  his  name  is  Spikeman ;  is  it  not  ? " 

"  Yes,  miss,  it  is." 

"Will  he  be  here  this  evening?  This  is  no  time  for 
trifling." 

"  If  you  want  him,  miss,  I  am  sure  he  will." 

"  Tell  him  to  be  sure  and  come,  and  not  in  disguise," 
said  Melissa,  bursting  into  tears.  "  That's  no  use,  my  die 
is  cast,"  continued  she,  talking  to  herself.  Joey  remained 
by  her  side  until  she  removed  her  hands  from  her  face. 
"  Why  do  you  wait  ?  " 

"  At  what  hour,  miss,  shall  he  come  ?  "  said  Joey. 

"  As  soon  as  it  is  dusk.  Leave  me,  boy,  and  do  not 
forget." 

Joey  hastened  to  Spikeman,  and  narrated  what  he  had 
seen  and  heard,  with  the  message  of  Melissa. 

"  My  dear  boy  !  you  have  helped  me  to  happiness,"  said 


The  Poacher  223 

Spikeman.  "  She  shed  tears,  did  she  ?  Poor  thing  !  I 
trust  they  will  be  the  last  she  shall  shed.  I  must  be  off  to 
Cobhurst  at  once.  Meet  me  at  dark  at  the  copse,  for  I 
shall  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Spikeman  set  off  for  the  town  as  fast  as  he  could,  with 
his  bundle  on  his  head.  When  half-way  he  went  into  a 
field  and  changed  his  clothes,  discarding  his  tinker's  dress 
for  ever,  throwing  it  into  a  ditch  for  the  benefit  of  the  finder. 
He  then  went  into  the  town  to  his  rooms,  dressed  himself  in 
a  fashionable  suit,  arranged  his  portmanteau,  and  ordered  a 
chaise  to  be  ready  at  the  door  at  a  certain  time,  so  as  to 
arrive  at  the  village  before  dusk.  After  he  had  passed 
through  the  village,  he  ordered  the  post-boy  to  stop  about 
fifty  yards  on  the  other  side  of  the  copse,  and,  getting  out, 
desired  him  to  remain  till  he  returned.  Joey  was  already 
there,  and  soon  afterwards  Miss  M.  made  her  appearance, 
coming  down  the  walk  in  a  hurried  manner,  in  her  shawl 
and  bonnet.  As  soon  as  she  gained  the  bench,  Spikeman 
was  at  her  feet ;  he  told  her  he  knew  what  had  passed 
between  her  and  her  cousin ;  that  he  could  not,  would  not 
part  with  her;  he  now  came  without  disguise  to  repeat  what 
he  had  so  often  said  to  her,  that  he  loved  and  adored  her, 
and  that  his  life  should  be  devoted  to  make  her  happy. 

Melissa  wept,  entreated,  refused,  and  half  consented  ; 
Spikeman  led  her  away  from  the  bench  towards  the  road, 
she  still  refusing,  yet  still  advancing,  until  they  came  to 
the  door  of  the  chaise.  Joey  let  down  the  steps ; 
Melissa,  half  fainting  and  half  resisting,  was  put  in, 
Spikeman  followed,  and  the  door  was  closed  by 
Joey. 

"  Stop  a  moment,  boy,"  said  Spikeman.  "Here,  Joey, 
take  this." 

As  Spikeman  put  a  packet  into  our  hero's  hand,  Melissa 
clasped  her  hands,  and  cried,  "  Yes — yes !  stop,  do  stop, 
and  let  me  out  ;  I  cannot  go,  indeed  I  cannot." 

"  There's  lights  coming  down  the  gravel  walk,"  said 
Joey;  "they  are  running  fast." 

"  Drive  on,  boy,  as  fast  as  you  can,"  said  Spikeman. 


224  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

"  Oh,  yes !  drive  on,"  cried  Melissa,  sinking  into  her 
lover's  arms. 

Off  went  the  chaise,  leaving  Joey  on  the  road  with  the 
packet  in  his  hands ;  our  hero  turned  round  and  perceived 
the  lights  close  to  him,  and,  not  exactly  wishing  to  be 
interrogated,  he  set  off  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  never 
checked  his  speed  until  he  arrived  at  the  cottage  where  he 
and  Spikeman  had  taken  up  their  quarters. 


Chapter  XXXIV 

A  very  long  chapter,  necessary  to  fetch  up  the  remainder  of  the  convoy. 

As  it  was  late  that  night,  Joey  did  not  open  the  packet 
delivered  to  him  from  Spikeman  until  he  arose  the  next 
morning,  which  he  did  very  early,  as  he  thought  it  very 
likely  that  he  might  be  apprehended,  if  he  was  not  off  in 
good  time.  The  packet  contained  a  key,  ^20  in  money, 
and  a  paper,  with  the  following  letter  ;■— 

"  My  dear  Boy, — As  we  must  now  part,  at  least  for 
some  time,  I  have  left  you  money  sufficient  to  set  you  up 
for  the  present ;  I  have  enclosed  a  memorandum,  by  which 
I  make  over  to  you  the  knife-grinder's  wheel,  and  all  the 
furniture,  books,  etc.,  that  are  in  my  rooms  at  Dudstone, 
the  key  of  which  is  also  enclosed.  I  should  recommend 
your  going  there  and  taking  immediate  possession,  and  as 
soon  as  I  have  time  I  shall  write  to  the  woman  of  the 
house,  to  inform  her  of  the  contents  of  the  memorandum  •, 
and  I  will  also  write  to  you,  and  let  you  know  how  I  get 
on.  Of  course  you  will  now  do  as  you  please;  at  all 
events  I  have  taught  you  a  profession,  and  have  given  you 
the  means  of  following  it.  I  only  hope,  if  you  do,  that 
some  day  you  may  able  to  retire  from  business  as  success- 
fully as  I  have  done.  You  will,  of  course,  write  to  me 
occasionally,  after  you  know  where  I  am.     Depend  upon 


The  Poacher  225 

it  there  is  no  profession  so  near  to  that  of  a  gentleman  as 
that  of  a  travelling  tinker.  "  Yours  ever  truly, 

"  Augustus  Spikeman. 
"  N.B.  There  is  some  money  in  the  old  place  to  pay  the 
bill  at  the  cottage." 

Our  hero  considered  that  he  could  not  do  better  than 
follow  the  advice  of  Spikeman.  He  first  wrote  a  few  lines 
to  Mary,  requesting  that  she  would  send  her  answer  to 
Dudstone ;  and  then,  having  settled  with  the  hostess,  he 
set  off  with  his  knife-grinder's  wheel  on  his  return  home 
to  what  were  now  his  apartments.  As  he  was  not  anxious 
to  make  money,  he  did  not  delay  on  his  road,  and  on  the 
fifth  day  he  found  himself  at  the  door  of  the  ale-house 
near  to  Dudstone,  where  he  had  before  left  the  wheel. 
Joey  thought  it  advisable  to  do  so  now,  telling  the  land- 
lord that  Spikeman  had  requested  him  so  to  do ;  and  as 
soon  as  it  was  dusk  our  hero  proceeded  to  the  town,  and 
knocked  at  the  door  of  the  house  in  which  were  Spike- 
man's  apartments.  He  informed  the  landlady  that  Spike- 
man would  not  in  all  probability  return,  and  had  sent  him 
to  take  possession,  showing  her  the  key.  The  dame  was 
satisfied,  and  Joey  went  upstairs.  As  soon  as  he  had 
lighted  the  candle,  and  fairly  installed  himself,  our  hero 
threw  himself  down  on  the  sofa,  and  began  to  reflect.  It 
is  pleasant  to  have  property  of  our  own,  and  Joey  never 
had  had  any  before ;  it  was  satisfactory  to  look  at  the 
furniture,  bed,  and  books,  and  say,  "  AH  this  is  mine* 
Joey  felt  this,  as  it  is  to  be  presumed  everybody  would  in 
the  same  position,  and  for  some  time  he  continued  looking 
round  and  round  at  his  property.  Having  satisfied  himself 
with  a  review  of  it  externally,  he  next  proceeded  to  open 
all  the  drawers,  the  chests,  etc.  There  were  many 
articles  in  them  which  Joey  did  not  expect  to  find,  such  aa 
a  store  of  sheets,  table  linen,  and  all  Spikeman's  clothes, 
which  he  had  discarded  when  he  went  up  to  London, 
some  silver  spoons,  and  a  variety  of  little  odds  and  ends  'y 
in  short,  Spikeman  had  left  our  hero  everything  as  it 
j.r.  p 


226  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

stood.  Joey  put  his  money  away,  and  then  went  to  bed, 
and  slept  as  serenely  as  the  largest  landed  proprietor  in 
the  kingdom.  When  he  awoke  next  morning,  our  hero 
began  to  reflect  upon  what  he  should  do.  He  was  not  of 
Spikeman's  opinion  that  a  travelling  tinker  was  the  next 
thing  to  a  gentleman,  nor  did  he  much  like  the  idea  of 
rolling  the  wheel  about  all  his  life;  nevertheless,  he  agreed 
with  Spikeman  that  it  was  a  trade  by  which  he  could  earn 
his  livelihood,  and  if  he  could  do  no  better,  it  would 
-always  be  a  resource.  As  soon  as  he  had  taken  his  break- 
fast, he  sat  down  and  wrote  to  Mary,  acquainting  her  with 
all  that  had  taken  place,  and  stating  what  his  own  feelings 
were  upon  his  future  prospects.  Having  finished  his 
letter,  he  dressed  himself  neatly,  and  went  out  to  call 
upon  the  widow  James.  Miss  Ophelia  and  Miss  Amelia 
-were  both  at  home. 

"Well,  Master  Atherton,  how  do  you  do?  and  pray 
where  is  Mr  Spikeman  ?  "  said  both  the  girls  in  a  breath. 

"  He  is  a  long  way  from  this  !  "  replied  Joey. 

"  A  long  way  from  this  !  Why,  has  he  not  come  back 
with  you  ? " 

"  No ;  and  I  believe  he  will  not  come  back  any  more. 
I  am  come,  as  his  agent,  to  take  possession  of  his 
property." 

"  Why,  what  has  happened  ?" 

"  A  very  sad  accident,"  replied  our  hero,  shaking  his 
head  ;  «  he  fell " 

"  Fell !  "  exclaimed  the  two  girls  in  a  breath. 

"  Yes,  fell  in  love,  and  is  married." 

"  Well  now !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Ophelia,  "  only  to 
think ! " 

Miss  Amelia  said  nothing. 

"  And  so  he  is  really  married  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  he  has  given  up  business." 

"  He  did  seem  in  a  great  hurry  when  he  last  came  here," 
observed  Amelia.     "  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  going  to  follow  his  example  just  yet," 
replied  Joey. 


The  Poacher  227 

"  I  suppose  not ;  but  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? " 
replied  Ophelia. 

"  I  shall  wait  here  for  his  orders ;  I  expect  to  hear 
from  him.  Whether  I  am  to  remain  in  this  part  of  the 
country,  or  sell  off  and  join  him,  or  look  out  for  some 
other  business,  I  hardly  know  ;  I  think  myself  I  shall  look 
out  for  something  else 5  I  don't  like  the  cutlery  line  and 
travelling  for  orders.  How  is  your  mamma,  Miss 
Ophelia  ? " 

"  She  is  very  well,  and  has  gone  to  market.  Well,  I 
never  did  expect  to  hear  of  Mr  Spikeman  being  married  ! 
Who  is  he  married  to,  Joseph  ? " 

"  To  a  very  beautiful  young  lady,  daughter  of  Squire 
Mathews,  with  a  large  fortune." 

"  Yes,  men  always  look  for  money  now-a-days,"  said 
Amelia. 

"I  must  go  now,"  said  Joey,  getting  up  5  "I  have 
some  calls  and  some  inquiries  to  make.  Good  morning, 
young  ladies." 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  the  two  Misses  James 
were  not  quite  so  cordial  towards  Joey  as  they  were 
formerly ;  but  unmarried  girls  do  not  like  to  hear  of  their 
old  acquaintances  marrying  anybody  save  themselves. 
There  is  not  only  a  flirt  the  less,  but  a  chance  the  less  in 
consequence  ;  and  it  should  be  remarked,  that  there  were 
very  few  beaux  at  Dudstone.  Our  hero  was  some  days  at 
Dudstone  before  he  received  a  letter  from  Spikeman,  who 
informed  him  that  he  had  arrived  safely  at  Gretna  (indeed, 
there  was  no  male  relation  of  the  family  to  pursue  him), 
and  the  silken  bands  of  Hymen  had  been  made  more 
secure  by  the  iron  rivets  of  the  blacksmith ;  that  three 
days  after  he  had  written  a  letter  to  his  wife's  father, 
informing  him  that  he  had  done  him  the  honour  of  marrying 
his  daughter  ;  that  he  could  not  exactly  say  when  he  could 
find  time  to  come  to  the  mansion  and  pay  him  a  visit,  but 
that  he  would  as  soon  as  he  conveniently  could ;  that  he 
begged  that  the  room  prepared  for  them  upon  their  arrival 
might  have  a  large  dressing-room  attached  to  it,  as  he 


2,28  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

could  not  dispense  with  that  convenience  ;  that  he  was  not 
aware  whether  Mr  Mathews  was  inclined  to  part  with  the 
mansion  and  property,  but,  as  his  wife  had  declared  that 
she  would  prefer  living  there  to  anywhere  else,  he  had 
not  any  objection  to  purchase  it  of  Mr  Mathews,  if  they 
could  come  to  terms  ;  hoped  his  gout  was  better,  and  was 
his  "  very  faithfully,  Augustus  Spikeman."  Melissa 
wrote  a  few  lines  to  Araminta,  begging  her,  as  a  favour, 
not  to  attempt  to  palliate  her  conduct,  but  to  rail  against 
her  incessantly,  as  it  would  be  the  surest  method  of 
bringing  affairs  to  an  amicable  settlement. 

To  her  father  she  wrote  only  these  few  words  : — 

"  My  Dear  Papa, — You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  am 
married.  Augustus  says  that,  if  I  behave  well,  he  will 
come  and  see  you  soon.     Dear  papa,  your  dutiful  child, 

"  Melissa  Spikeman." 

That  the  letters  of  Spikeman  and  Melissa  put  the  old 
gentleman  in  no  small  degree  of  rage,  may  be  conceived  ; 
but  nothing  could  be  more  judicious  than  the  plan 
Spikeman  had  acted  upon.  It  is  useless  to  plead  to  a  man 
who  is  irritated  with  constant  gout ;  he  only  becomes  more 
despotic  and  more  unyielding.  Had  Araminta  attempted 
to  soften  his  indignation,  it  would  have  been  equally 
fruitless  j  but  the  compliance  with  the  request  of  her 
cousin,  of  continually  railing  against  her,  had  the  effect 
intended.  The  vituperation  of  Araminta  left  him  nothing 
to  say  ;  there  was  no  opposition  to  direct  his  anathemas 
against ;  there  was  no  coaxing  or  wheedling  on  the  part 
of  the  offenders  for  him  to  repulse ;  and  when  Araminta 
pressed  the  old  gentleman  to  vow  that  Melissa  should 
never  enter  the  doors  again,  he  accused  her  of  being 
influenced  by  interested  motives,  threw  a  basin  at  her 
head,  and  wrote  an  epistle  requesting  Melissa  to  come 
and  take  his  blessing.  Araminta  refused  to  attend  her 
uncle  after  this  insult,  and  the  old  gentleman  became  still 
more  anxious  for  the  return  of  his  daughter,  as  he  was 


The  Poacher  229 

now  left  entirely  to  the  caprice  of  his  servants.  Araminta 
gave  Melissa  an  account  of  what  had  passed,  and  entreated 
her  to  come  at  once.  She  did  so,  and  a  general  reconcilia- 
tion took  place.  Mr  Mathews,  finding  his  new  son-in-law 
very  indifferent  to  pecuniary  matters,  insisted  upon  making 
over  to  his  wife  an  estate  in  Herefordshire,  which,  with 
Melissa's  own  fortune,  rendered  them  in  most  affluent 
circumstances.  Spikeman  requested  Joey  to  write  to  him 
now  and  then,  and  that,  if  he  required  assistance,  he  would 
apply  for  it;  but  still  advised  him  to  follow  up  the 
profession  of  travelling  tinker  as  being  the  most  in- 
dependent. 

Our  hero  had  hardly  time  to  digest  the  contents  of 
Spikeman's  letter  when  he  received  a  large  packet  from 
Mary,  accounting  for  her  not  having  replied  to  him  before, 
in  consequence  of  her  absence  from  the  Hall.  She  had 
three  weeks  before  received  a  letter  written  for  Mrs 
Chopper,  acquainting  her  that  Mrs  Chopper  was  so  very 
ill  that  it  was  not  thought  possible  that  she  could  recover, 
having  an  abscess  in  the  liver  which  threatened  to  break 
internally,  and  requesting  Mary  to  obtain  leave  to  come  to 
Gravesend,  if  she  possibly  could,  as  Mrs  Chopper  wished 
to  see  her  before  she  died.  Great  as  was  Mary's  repug- 
nance to  revisit  Gravesend,  she  felt  that  the  obligations  she 
was  under  to  Mrs  Chopper  were  too  great  for  her  to 
hesitate;  and  showing  the  letter  to  Mrs  Austin,  and  stating 
at  the  same  time  that  she  considered  Mrs  Chopper  as  more 
than  a  mother  to  her,  she  obtained  the  leave  which  she  re- 
quested, and  set  off  for  Gravesend. 

It  was  with  feelings  of  deep  shame  and  humiliation  that 
poor  Mary  walked  down  the  main  street  of  the  town, 
casting  her  eyes  up  fearfully  to  the  scenes  of  her  former 
life.  She  was  very  plainly  attired,  and  had  a  thick  veil 
over  her  face,  so  that  nobody  recognised  her  ;  she  arrived 
at  the  door  of  Mrs  Chopper's  abode,  ascended  the  stairs, 
and  was  once  more  in  the  room  out  of  which  she  had 
quitted  Gravesend  to  lead  a  new  life  ;  and  most  conscien- 
tiously had  she  fulfilled  her  resolution,  as  the  reader  must 


230  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

be  aware  of.  Mrs  Chopper  was  in  bed  and  slumbering 
when  Mary  softly  opened  the  door ;  the  signs  of  approach- 
ing death  were  on  her  countenance — her  large  round  form 
had  wasted  away — her  fingers  were  now  taper  and  blood- 
less •,  Mary  would  not  have  recognised  her  had  she  fallen 
in  with  her  under  other  circumstances.  An  old  woman 
was  in  attendance  ;  she  rose  up  when  Mary  entered, 
imagining  that  it  was  some  kind  lady  come  to  visit  the 
sick  woman.  Mary  sat  down  by  the  side  of  the  bed,  and 
motioned  to  the  old  woman  that  she  might  go  out,  and 
then  she  raised  her  veil  and  waited  till  the  sufferer  roused. 
Mary  had  snuffed  the  candle  twice  that  she  might  see 
sufficiently  to  read  the  Prayer  Book  which  she  had  taken  up, 
when  Mrs  Chopper  opened  her  eyes. 

"  How  very  kind  of  you,  ma'am  !  "  said  Mrs  Chopper  j 

"  and  where  is  Miss  ?     My  eyes  are  dimmer  every 

day." 

"  It  is  me,  Mary — Nancy,  that  was  !  " 

"  And  so  it  is !  O  Nancy,  now  I  shall  die  in  peace  \ 
I  thought  at  first  it  was  the  kind  lady  who  comes  every  day 
to  read  and  to  pray  with  me.  Dear  Nancy,  how  glad  I 
am  to  see  you  !  And  how  do  you  do  ?  And  how  is  poor 
Peter  ?  " 

"  Quite  well  when  I  heard  from  him  last,  my  dear  Mrs 
Chopper." 

"  You  don't  know,  Nancy,  what  a  comfort  it  is  to  me  to 
see  you  looking  as  you  do,  so  good  and  so  innocent  ;  and 
when  I  think  it  was  by  my  humble  means  that  you  were 
put  in  the  way  of  becoming  so,  I  feel  as  if  I  had  done 
one  good  act,  and  that  perhaps  my  sins  may  be  forgiven 
me. 

"  God  will  reward  you,  Mrs  Chopper  ;  I  said  so  at  the 
time,  and  I  feel  it  now,"  replied  Mary,  the  tears  rolling 
down  her  cheeks ;  "  J  trust  by  your  means,  and  with 
strength  from  above,  I  shall  continue  in  the  same  path,  so 
that  one  sinner  may  be  saved." 

"  Bless  you,  Nancy  ! — You  never  were  a  bad  girl 
in  heart  :  I  always  said  so.     And  where  is  Peter  now  ?  " 


The  Poacher  231 

"  Going  about  the  country  earning  his  bread ;  poor, 
but  happy." 

"  Well,  Nancy,  it  will  soon  be  over  with  me ;  I  may  die 
in  a  second,  they  tell  me,  or  I  may  live  for  three  or  four 
days ;  but  I  sent  for  you  that  I  might  put  my  house  in 
order.  There  are  only  two  people  that  I  care  for  upon 
earth — that  is,  you  and  my  poor  Peter  ;  and  all  I  have  I 
mean  to  leave  between  you.  I  have  signed  a  paper  already, 
in  case  you  could  not  come,  but  now  that  you  are  come  I  will 
tell  you  all  I  wish ;  but  give  me  some  of  that  drink  first." 

Mary  having  read  the  directions  on  the  label,  poured 
out  a  wine-glass  of  the  mixture,  and  gave  it  to  Mrs 
Chopper,  who  swallowed  it,  and  then  proceeded,  taking 
a  paper  from  under  her  pillow — 

*'  Nancy  !  this  is  the  paper  I  told  you  of.  I  have  about 
£700  in  the  bank,  which  is  all  that  I  have  saved  in 
twenty-two  years ;  but  it  has  been  honestly  made.  I 
have,  perhaps,  much  more  owing  to  me,  but  I  do  not  want 
it  to  be  collected.  Poor  sailors  have  no  money  to  spare, 
and  I  release  them  all.  You  will  see  me  buried,  Nancy, 
and  tell  poor  Peter  how  I  loved  him,  and  I  have  left  my 
account  books,  with  my  bad  debts  and  good  debts,  to  him. 
I  am  sure  he  would  like  to  have  them,  for  he  knows  the 
history  of  every  sum-total,  and  he  will  look  over  them, 
and  think  of  me.  You  can  sell  this  furniture ;  but  the 
wherry  you  must  give  to  William ;  he  is  not  very  honest, 
but  he  has  a  large  family  to  keep.  Do  what  you  like, 
dearest,  about  what  is  here ;  perhaps  my  clothes  would 
be  useful  to  his  wife ;  they  are  not  fit  for  you.  There's 
a  good  deal  of  money  in  the  upper  drawer  j  it  will  pay  for 
my  funeral  and  the  doctor.  I  believe  that  is  all  now  ;  but 
do  tell  poor  Peter  how  I  loved  him.  Poor  fellow,  I  have 
been  cheated  ever  since  he  left;  but  that's  no  matter. 
Now,  Nancy  dear,  read  to  me  a  little.  I  have  so  longed 
to  have  you  by  my  bed-side  to  read  to  me,  and  pray  for 
me  !  I  want  to  hear  you  pray  before  I  die.  It  will  make 
me  happy  to  hear  you  pray,  and  see  that  kind  face  looking 
up  to  heaven,  as  it  was  always  meant  to  do." 


232  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

Poor  Mary  burst  into  tears.  After  a  few  minutes  she 
became  more  composed,  and,  dropping  down  on  her  knees 
by  the  side  of  the  bed,  she  opened  the  Prayer  Book,  and 
complied  with  the  request  of  Mrs  Chopper  ;  and  as  she 
fervently  poured  forth  her  supplication,  occasionally  her 
voice  faltered,  and  she  would  stop  to  brush  away  the  tears 
which  dimmed  her  sight.  She  was  still  so  occupied  when 
the  door  of  the  room  was  gently  opened,  and  a  lady,  with 
a  girl  about  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  old,  quietly  entered 
the  room.  Mary  did  not  perceive  them  until  they  also  had 
knelt  down.  She  finished  the  prayer,  rose,  and,  with  a 
short  curtsey,  retired  from  the  side  of  the  bed. 

Although  not  recognised  herself  by  the  lady,  Mary 
immediately  remembered  Mrs  Phillips  and  her  daughter 
Emma,  having,  as  we  have  before  observed,  been  at  one 
time  in  Mrs  Phillips's  service. 

"  This  is  the  young  woman  whom  you  so  wished  to  see, 
Mrs  Chopper,  is  it  not?"  said  Mrs  Phillips.  "lam  not 
surprised  at  your  longing  for  her,  for  she  appears  well 
suited  for  a  companion  in  such  an  hour ;  and,  alas  !  how 
few  there  are !  Sit  down,  I  request,"  continued  Mrs 
Phillips,  turning  to  Mary.  "How  do  you  find  yourself 
to-day,  Mrs  Chopper?" 

"  Sinking  fast,  dear  madam,  but  not  unwilling  to  go, 
since  I  have  seen  Nancy,  and  heard  of  my  poor  Peter :  he 
wrote  to  Nancy  a  short  time  ago.  Nancy,  don't  forget  my 
love  to  Peter." 

Emma  Phillips,  who  had  now  grown  tall  and  thin, 
immediately  went  up  to  Mary,  and  said,  "Peter  was  the 
little  boy  who  was  with  Mrs  Chopper ;  I  met  him  on  the 
road  when  he  first  came  to  Gravesend,  did  I  not  ? " 

"  Yes,  miss,  you  did,"  replied  Mary. 

"  He  used  to  come  to  our  house  sometimes,  and  very 
often  to  meet  me  as  I  walked  home  from  school.  I  never 
could  imagine  what  became  of  him,  for  he  disappeared  all 
at  once  without  saying  good-bye." 

"  He  was  obliged  to  go  away,  miss.  It  was  not  his 
fault  j  he  was  a  very  good  boy,  and  is  so  still." 


The  Poacher  233 

"  Then  pray  remember  me  to  him,  and  tell  him  that  I 
often  think  of  him." 

"I  will,  Miss  Phillips,  and  he  will  be  very  happy  to 
hear  that  you  have  said  so." 

"  How  did  you  know  that  my  name  was  Phillips  ?  O,  I 
suppose  poor  Mrs  Chopper  told  you  before  we  came  ?" 

Mrs  Phillips  had  now  read  some  time  to  Mrs  Chopper, 
and  this  put  an  end  to  the  conversation  between  Mary  and 
Emma  Phillips.  It  was  not  resumed.  As  soon  as  the 
reading  was  over,  Mrs  Phillips  and  her  daughter  took  their 
leave. 

Mary  made  up  a  bed  for  herself  by  the  side  of  Mrs 
Chopper's.  About  the  middle  of  the  night,  she  was  roused 
by  a  gurgling  kind  of  noise  ;  she  hastened  to  the  bed-side, 
and  found  that  Mrs  Chopper  was  suffocating.  Mary  called 
in  the  old  woman  to  her  aid,  but  it  was  useless,  the  abscess 
had  burst,  and  in  a  few  seconds  all  was  over ;  and  Mary, 
struggling  with  emotion,  closed  the  eyes  of  her  old  friend, 
and  offered  up  a  prayer  for  her  departed  spirit. 

The  remainder  of  the  night  was  passed  in  solemn 
meditation  and  a  renewal  of  those  vows  which  the  poor 
girl  had  hitherto  so  scrupulously  adhered  to,  and  which 
the  death-bed  scene  was  so  well  fitted  to  encourage ; 
but  Mary  felt  that  she  had  her  duties  towards  others  to 
discharge,  and  did  not  give  way  to  useless  and  unavailing 
sorrow.  It  was  her  duty  to  return  as  soon  as  possible 
to  her  indulgent  mistress,  and  the  next  morning  she  was 
busy  in  making  the  necessary  arrangements.  On  the 
third  day  Mary  attended  the  funeral  of  her  old  friend, 
the  bills  were  all  paid,  and  having  selected  some  articles 
which  she  wished  to  retain  as  a  remembrance,  she  resolved 
to  make  over  to  William,  the  waterman,  not  only  the 
wherry,  but  all  the  stock  in  hand,  furniture,  and  clothes 
of  Mrs  Chopper.  This  would  enable  him  and  his  wife 
to  set  up  in  business  themselves  and  provide  for  their 
family.  Mary  knew  that  she  had  no  right  to  do  so 
without  Joey's  consent,  but  of  this  she  felt  she  was 
sure  •,   having  so  done,  she  had  nothing  more  to  do  but 


2  34  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

to  see  the  lawyer  who  had  drawn  up  the  will,  and  having 
gone  through  the  necessary  forms,  she  received  an  order 
on  the  county  bank  nearest  to  the  Hall  for  the  money, 
which,  with  what  was  left  in  the  drawers,  after  paying 
every  demand,  accounted  to  more  than  ^Qloo.  She 
thought  it  was  her  duty  to  call  upon  Mrs  Phillips  before 
she  went  away,  out  of  gratitude  for  her  kindness  to  Mrs 
Chopper ;  and  as  she  had  not  been  recognised,  she  had  no 
scruple  in  so  doing.  She  was  kindly  received,  and  blushed 
at  the  praise  bestowed  upon  her.  As  she  was  going  away, 
Emma  Phillips  followed  her  out,  and  putting  into  her  hand 
a  silver  pencil-case,  requested  she  would  "  give  it  to  Peter 
as  a  remembrance  of  his  little  friend,  Emma."  The  next 
day  Mary  arrived  at  the  Hall,  first  communicated  to  Mrs 
Austin  what  had  occurred,  and  then,  having  received  our 
hero's  two  last  epistles,  sat  down  to  write  the  packet 
containing  all  the  intelligence  we  have  made  known,  and 
ended  by  requesting  Joey  to  set  off  with  his  knife-grinder's 
wheel,  and  come  to  the  village  near  to  the  Hall,  that  he 
might  receive  his  share  of  Mrs  Chopper's  money,  the  silver 
pencil-case,  and  the  warm  greeting  of  his  adopted  sister. 
Joey  was  not  long  in  deciding.  He  resolved  that  he 
would  go  to  Mary  ;  and  having  locked  up  his  apartments, 
he  once  more  resumed  his  wheel,  and  was  soon  on  his  way 
to  Dorsetshire. 


Chapter  XXXV 

A  retrospect,  that  the  parties  may  all  start  fair  again. 

We  must  now  leave  our  hero  on  his  way  to  the  Hall,  while 
we  acquaint  our  readers  with  the  movements  of  other 
parties  connected  with  our  history.  A  correspondence 
had  been  kept  up  between  O'Donahue  and  M'Shane. 
O'Donahue  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  pardon  of  the 
Emperor,  and  employment  in  the  Russian  army,  in  which 
he  had  rapidly  risen  to  the  rank  of  general.     Five  or  six 


The  Poacher  235 

years  had  elapsed  since  he  had  married,  and  both 
O'Donahue  and  his  wife  were  anxious  to  visit  England  ; 
a  letter  at  last  came,  announcing  that  he  had  obtained 
leave  of  absence  from  the  Emperor,  and  would,  in  all 
probability,  arrive  in  the  ensuing  spring. 

During  this  period  M'Shane  had  continued  at  his  old 
quarters,  Mrs  M'Shane  still  carrying  on  the  business, 
which  every  year  became  more  lucrative  j  so  much  so, 
indeed,  that  her  husband  had  for  some  time  thought  very 
seriously  of  retiring  altogether,  as  they  had  already  amassed 
a  large  sum,  when  M'Shane  received  the  letter  from 
O'Donahue,  announcing  that  in  a  few  months  he  would 
arrive  in  England.  Major  M'Shane,  who  was  very  far 
from  being  satisfied  with  his  negative  position  in  society, 
pressed  the  matter  more  earnestly  to  his  wife,  who, 
although  she  was  perfectly  content  with  her  own  position, 
did  not  oppose  his  entreaties.  M'Shane  found  that  after 
disposing  of  the  good-will  of  the  business,  and  the  house, 
they  would  have  a  clear  ^30,000,  which  he  considered 
more  than  enough  for  their  wants,  unencumbered  as  they 
were  with  children. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  M'Shane  had  ceased  in  his 
inquiries  after  our  hero ;  on  the  contrary,  he  had  resorted 
to  all  that  his  invention  could  suggest  to  trace  him  out, 
but,  as  the  reader  must  be  aware,  without  success.  Both 
M'Shane  and  his  wife  mourned  his  loss,  as  if  they  had 
been  bereaved  of  their  own  child  j  they  still  indulged  the 
idea  that  some  day  he  would  re-appear,  but  when,  they 
could  not  surmise.  M'Shane  had  not  only  searched  for 
our  hero,  but  had  traced  his  father  with  as  little  success, 
and  he  had  now  made  up  his  mind  that  he  should  see  no 
more  of  Joey,  if  he  ever  did  see  him  again,  until  after  the 
death  of  his  father,  when  there  would  no  longer  be  any 
occasion  for  secrecy.  Our  hero  and  his  fate  were  a  con- 
tinual source  of  conversation  between  M'Shane  and  his 
wife  ;  but  latterly,  after  not  having  heard  of  him  for  more 
than  five  years,  the  subject  had  not  been  so  often  re- 
newed.    As  soon  as  M'Shane  had  wound  up  his  affairs, 


i$6  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

and  taken  his  leave  of  the  eating-house,  he  looked  out  for 
an  estate  in  the  country,  resolving  to  lay  out  two-thirds 
of  his  money  in  land,  and  leave  the  remainder  in  the  funds. 
After  about  three  months'  search,  he  found  a  property 
which  suited  him,  and,  as  it  so  happened,  about  six  miles 
from  the  domains  held  by  Mr  Austin  He  had  taken 
possession  and  furnished  it.  As  a  retired  officer  in  the 
army  he  was  well  received ;  and  if  Mrs  M'Shane  was 
sometimes  laughed  at  for  her  housekeeper-like  appearance, 
still  her  sweetness  of  temper  and  unassuming  behaviour 
soon  won  her  friends,  and  M'Shane  found  himself  in  a 
very  short  time  comfortable  and  happy.  The  O'Donahues 
were  expected  to  arrive  very  shortly,  and  M'Shane  had 
now  a  domicile  fit  for  the  reception  of  his  old  friend,  who 
had  promised  to  pay  him  a  visit  as  soon  as  he  arrived. 

Of  the  Austins  little  more  can  be  said  that  has  not  been 
said  already.  Austin  was  a  miserable,  unhappy  man  j  his 
cup  of  bliss — for  he  had  every  means  of  procuring  all  that 
this  world  considers  as  bliss,  being  in  possession  of  station, 
wealth,  and  respect — was  poisoned  by  the  one  heavy  crime 
which  passion  had  urged  him  to  commit,  and  which  was 
now  a  source  of  hourly  and  unavailing  repentance.  His 
son,  who  should  have  inherited  his  wealth,  was  lost  to 
him,  and  he  dared  not  mention  that  he  was  in  existence. 
Every  day  Austin  became  more  nervous  and  irritable,  more 
exclusive  and  averse  to  society ;  he  trembled  at  shadows, 
and  his  strong  constitution  was  rapidly  giving  way  to  the 
heavy  weight  on  his  conscience.  He  could  not  sleep  with- 
out opiates,  and  he  dreaded  to  sleep  lest  he  should  reveal 
everything  of  the  past  in  his  slumbers.  Each  year  added 
to  the  irascibility  of  his  temper,  and  the  harshness  with 
which  he  treated  his  servants  and  his  unhappy  wife.  His 
chief  amusement  was  hunting,  and  he  rode  in  so  reckless 
a  manner,  that  people  often  thought  that  he  was  anxious 
to  break  his  neck.  Perhaps  he  was.  Mrs  Austin  was 
much  to  be  pitied  ;  she  knew  how  much  her  husband 
suffered ;  how  the  worm  gnawed  within ;  and,  having 
that  knowledge,  she  submitted  to  all  his  harshness,  pity- 


The  Poacher  237 

ing  him  instead  of  condemning  him ;  but  her  life  was  still 
more  embittered  by  the  loss  of  her  child,  and  many  were 
the  bitter  tears  which  she  would  shed  when  alone,  for  she 
dared  not  in  her  husband's  presence,  as  he  would  have 
taken  them  as  a  reproof  to  himself.  Her  whole  soul 
yearned  after  our  hero,  and  that  one  feeling  rendered  her 
indifferent,  not  only  to  all  the  worldly  advantages  by 
which  she  was  surrounded,  but  to  the  unkindness  and 
hard-heartedness  of  her  husband.  Mary,  who  had  entered 
her  service  as  kitchen-maid,  was  very  soon  a  favourite, 
and  had  been  advanced  to  the  situation  of  Mrs  Austin's 
own  attendant.  Mrs  Austin  considered  her  a  treasure, 
and  she  daily  became  more  partial  to  and  more  confidential 
with  her.  Such  was  the  state  of  affairs,  when  one  morn- 
ing, as  Austin  was  riding  to  cover,  a  gentleman  of  the 
neighbourhood  said  to  him  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion— 

"  By-the-bye,  Austin,  have  you  heard  that  you  have 
a  new  neighbour  ? " 

"  What !  on  the  Frampton  estate,  I  suppose  ?  I  heard 
that  it  had  been  sold." 

**  Yes  ;  I  have  seen  him.  He  is  one  of  your  profession 
— a  lively,  amusing  sort  of  Irish  major;  gentlemanlike, 
nevertheless.  The  wife  not  very  high  bred,  but  very 
fat,  and  very  good-humoured,  and  amusing  from  her 
downright  simpleness  of  heart.  You  will  call  upon  them, 
I  presume  ? " 

"  O,  of  course,"  replied  Austin.  "  What  is  his  name, 
did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Major  M'Shane,  formerly  of  the  53rd  regiment,  I 
believe." 

Had  a  bullet  passed  through  the  heart  of  Austin  he 
could  not  have  received  a  more  sudden  shock,  and  the 
start  which  he  made  from  his  saddle  attracted  the  notice 
of  his  companion. 

*'  What's  the  matter,  Austin,  you  look  pale,  you  are 
not  well  ? " 

"  No,"  replied  Austin,  recollecting  himself,  "  I  am  not ; 


238  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

one  of  those  twinges  from  an  old  wound  in  the  breast 
came  on.     I  shall  be  better  directly." 

Austin  stopped  his  horse,  and  put  his  hand  to  his  heart. 
His  companion  rode  up  and  remained  near  him. 

"  It  is  worse  than  usual ;  I  thought  it  was  coming  on 
last  night  5  I  fear  that  I  must  go  home." 

"  Shall  I  go  with  you  ?  " 

"O  no;  I  must  not  spoil  your  sport.  I  am  better  now 
a  great  deal,  it  is  going  off  fast.  Come,  let  us  proceed, 
or  we  shall  be  too  late  at  cover." 

Austin  had  resolved  to  conquer  his  feelings.  His  friend 
had  no  suspicion,  it  is  true;  but,  when  we  are  guilty,  we 
imagine  that  everybody  suspects  us.  They  rode  a  few 
minutes  in  silence. 

"  "Well,  I  am  glad  that  you  did  not  go  home,"  observed 
his  friend ;  "  for  you  will  meet  your  new  neighbour ;  he 
has  subscribed  to  the  pack,  and  they  say  he  is  well 
mounted  ;  we  shall  see  how  he  rides." 

Austin  made  no  reply ;  but,  after  riding  on  a  few  yards 
further,  he  pulled  up,  saying  that  the  pain  was  coming 
on  again,  and  that  he  could  not  proceed.  His  companion 
expressed  his  sorrow  at  Austin's  indisposition,  and  they 
separated. 

Austin  immediately  returned  home,  dismounted  his 
horse,  and  hastened  to  his  private  sitting-room.  Mrs 
Austin,  who  had  seen  him  return  and  could  not  imagine 
the  cause,  went  in  to  her  husband. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  dear  ?  "  said  Mrs  Austin. 

"  Matter ! "  replied  Austin,  bitterly,  pacing  up  and 
down  the  room ;  "  heaven  and  hell  conspire  against  us  !  " 

"  Dear  Austin,  don't  talk  in  that  way.  What  has 
happened  ?  " 

"  Something  which  will  compel  me,  I  expect,  to  remain 
a  prisoner  in  my  own  house,  or  lead  to  something  un- 
pleasant.    We  must  not  stay  here." 

Austin  then  threw  himself  down  on  a  sofa,  and  was 
silent.  At  last  the  persuasions  and  endearments  of  his 
wife  overcame  his  humour.     He  told   her  that  M'Shane 


The  Poacher  239 

was  the  major  of  his  regiment  when  he  was  a  private ; 
that  he  would  inevitably  recognise  him ;  and  that,  if 
nothing  else  occurred  from  M'Shane's  knowledge  of  his 
former  name,  at  all  events  the  general  supposition  of  his 
having  been  an  officer  in  the  army  would  be  contradicted, 
and  it  would  lower  him  in  the  estimation  of  the  county 
gentlemen. 

"  It  is  indeed  a  very  annoying  circumstance,  my  dear 
Austin  ;  but  are  you  sure  that  he  would,  after  so  long  a 
period,  recognise  the  private  soldier  in  the  gentleman  of 
fortune  ? " 

M  As  sure  as  I  sit  here,"  replied  Austin,  gloomily ;  "  I 
wish  I  were  dead." 

"Don't  say  so,  dear  Austin,  it  makes  me  miserable." 

"  I  never  am  otherwise,"  replied  Austin,  clasping  his 
hands.  "  God  forgive  me ;  I  have  sinned,  but  have  I 
not  been  punished  ? " 

"  You  have,  indeed ;  and  as  repentance  is  availing,  my 
dear  husband,  you  will  receive  God's  mercy." 

"The  greatest  boon,  the  greatest  mercy  would  be 
death,"  replied  the  unhappy  man ;  "  I  envy  the  pedlar." 

Mrs  Austin  wept.  Her  husband,  irritated  at  tears, 
which,  to  him,  seemed  to  imply  reproach,  sternly  ordered 
her  to  leave  the  room. 

That  Austin  repented  bitterly  of  the  crime  which  he 
had  committed  is  not  to  be  doubted ;  but  it  was  not  with 
the  subdued  soul  of  a  Christian.  His  pride  was  continually 
struggling  within  him,  and  was  not  yet  conquered ;  this 
it  was  that  made  him  alternately  self-condemning  and 
irascible,  and  it  was  the  continual  warfare  in  his  soul 
which  was  undermining  his  constitution. 

Austin  sent  for  medical  advice  for  his  supposed  com- 
plaint. The  country  practitioner,  who  could  discover 
nothing,  pronounced  it  to  be  an  affection  of  the  heart. 
He  was  not  far  wrong;  and  Mr  Austin's  illness  was 
generally  promulgated.  Cards  and  calls  were  the  con- 
sequence, and  Austin  kept  himself  a  close  but  impatient 
prisoner  in  his  own  house.     His  hunters  remained  in  the 


240  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

stables,  his  dogs  in  the  kennel,  and  every  one  intimated 
that  Mr  Austin  was  labouring  under  a  disease  from  which 
he  would  not  recover.  At  first  this  was  extremely  irk- 
some to  Austin,  and  he  was  very  impatient ;  but  gradually 
he  became  reconciled,  and  even  preferred  his  sedentary 
and  solitary  existence.  Books  were  his  chief  amusement, 
but  nothing  could  minister  to  a  mind  diseased,  or  drive 
out  the  rooted  memory  of  the  brain.  Austin  became 
more  morose  and  misanthropic  every  day,  and  at  last 
would  permit  no  one  to  come  near  him  but  his  valet  and 
his  wife. 

Such  was  the  position  of  his  parents,  when  Joey  was 
proceeding  to  their  abode. 


Chapter    XXXVI 

Our  hero  falls  in  with  an  old  acquaintance,  and  is  not  very  much  delighted. 

We  left  our  hero  rolling  his  knife-grinder's  wheel  towards 
his  father's  house.  It  must  be  confessed  that  he  did  it 
very  unwillingly.  He  was  never  very  fond  of  it  at  any 
time ;  but,  since  he  had  taken  possession  of  Spikeman's 
property,  and  had  received  from  Mary  the  intelligence 
that  he  was  worth  £350  more,  he  had  taken  a  positive 
aversion  to  it.  It  retarded  his  movements,  and  it  was 
hard  work  when  he  had  not  to  get  his  livelihood  by  it. 
More  than  once  he  thought  of  rolling  it  into  a  horse-pond, 
and  leaving  it  below  low-water  mark ;  but  then  he  thought 
it  a  sort  of  protection  against  inquiry,  and  against  assault, 
for  it  told  of  poverty  and  honest  employment ;  so  Joey 
rolled  on,  but  not  with  any  feelings  of  regard  towards 
his  companion. 

How  many  castles  did  our  hero  build  as  he  went  along 
the  road !  The  sum  of  money  left  to  him  appeared  to 
be  enormous.  He  planned  and  planned  again ;  and,  like 
most  people,  at  the  close  of  the  day,  he  was  just  as 
undetermined   as   at   the   commencement.      Nevertheless, 


The  Poacher  241 

he  was  very  happy,  as  people  always  are,  in  anticipation ; 
unfortunately,  more  so  than  when  they  grasp  what  they 
have  been  seeking.  Time  rolled  on,  as  well  as  the  grind- 
stone, and  at  last  Joey  found  himself  at  the  ale-house 
where  he  and  Mary  had  put  up  previously  to  her  obtaining 
a  situation  at  the  Hall.  He  immediately  wrote  a  letter 
to  her,  acquainting  her  with  his  arrival.  He  would  have 
taken  the  letter  himself,  only  he  recollected  the  treatment 
he  had  received,  and  found  another  messenger  in  the 
butcher's  boy,  who  was  going  up  to  the  Hall  for  orders. 
The  answer  returned  by  the  same  party  was,  that  Mary 
would  come  down  and  see  him  that  evening.  When 
Mary  came  down  Joey  was  astonished  at  the  improvement 
in  her  appearance.  She  looked  much  younger  than  she 
did  when  they  had  parted,  and  her  dress  was  so  very 
different,  that  our  hero  could  with  difficulty  imagine  that 
it  was  the  same  person  who  had  been  his  companion  from 
Gravesend.  The  careless  air  and  manner  had  disappeared  ; 
there  was  a  retenue — a  dignity  about  her  which  astonished 
him  ;  and  he  felt  a  sort  of  respect  mingled  with  his  regard 
for  her,  of  which  he  could  not  divest  himself.  But,  if  she 
looked  younger  (as  may  well  be  imagined)  from  her  change 
of  life,  she  also  looked  more  sedate,  except  when  she 
smiled,  or  when  occasionally,  but  very  rarely,  her  merry 
laughter  reminded  him  of  the  careless,  good-tempered 
Nancy  of  former  times.  That  the  greeting  was  warm 
need  hardly  be  said.  It  was  the  greeting  of  a  sister  and 
younger  brother  who  loved  each  other  dearly. 

"  You  are  very  much  grown,  Joey,"  said  Mary.  "  Dear 
boy,  how  happy  I  am  to  see  you  !  " 

"  And  you,  Mary,  you're  younger  in  the  face,  but  older 
in  your  manners.  Are  you  as  happy  in  your  situation  as 
you  have  told  me  in  your  letters  ?  " 

"  Quite  happy  ;  more  happy  than  ever  I  deserve  to  be, 
my  dear  boy  •,  and  now  tell  me,  Joey,  what  do  you  think  of 
doing?    You  have  now  the  means  of  establishing  yourself." 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  thinking  of  it ;  but  I  don't  know 
what  to  do." 

J.R-  Q, 


242  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  or, 

"  Well,  you  must  look  out,  and  do  not  be  in  too  great 
a  hurry.  Recollect,  Joey,  that  if  anything  offers  which 
you  have  any  reason  to  believe  will  suit  you,  you  shall 
have  my  money  as  well  as  your  own." 

"  Nay,  Mary,  why  should  I  take  that  ? " 

"  Because,  as  it  is  of  no  use  to  me,  it  must  be  idle  ; 
besides,  you  know,  if  you  succeed,  you  will  be  able  to  pay 
me  interest  for  it ;  so  I  shall  gain  as  well  as  you.  You 
must  not  refuse  your  sister,  my  dear  boy." 

"  Dear  Mary,  how  I  wish  we  could  live  in  the  same 
house !  " 

"  That  cannot  be  now,  Joey ;  you  are  above  my 
situation  at  the  Hall,  even  allowing  that  you  would  ever 
enter  it." 

"  That  I  never  will,  if  I  can  help  it ;  not  that  I  feel 
angry  now,  but  I  like  to  be  independent." 

"  Of  course  you  do." 

"  And  as  for  that  grindstone,  I  hate  the  sight  of  it ;  it 
has  made  Spikeman's  fortune,  but  it  never  shall  make 
mine." 

"  You  don't  agree,  then,  with  your  former  companion," 
rejoined  Mary,  "  that  a  tinker's  is  the  nearest  profession  to 
that  of  a  gentleman  which  you  know  of." 

"  I  certainly  do  not,"  replied  our  hero  ;  "  and  as  soon  as 
I  can  get  rid  of  it  I  will ;  I  have  rolled  it  here,  but  I  will 
not  roll  it  much  farther.     I  only  wish  I  knew   where  to 

g°- 

"  I  have  something  in  my  pocket  which  puts  me  in  mind 

of  a  piece  of  news  which  I  received  the  other  day,  since 

my  return.     First,    let  me  give  you  what  I  have  in  my 

pocket " — and  Mary  pulled  out  the  pencil-case  sent  to  Joey 

by  Emma  Phillips,  "  There,  you  know  already  who  that  is 

from." 

"  Yes,  and  I  shall  value  it  very  much,  for  she  was  a  dear, 
kind  little  creature  ;  and  when  I  was  very,  very  miserable, 
she  comforted  me." 

"Well,  Joey,  Miss  Phillips  requested  me  to  write  when 
I  came  back,  as  she  wished  to  hear  that  I  had  arrived  safe 


The  Poacher  243 

at  the  Hall.  It  was  very  kind  of  her,  and  I  did  so,  of 
course.  Since  that  I  have  received  a  letter  from  her,  stat- 
ing that  her  grandmother  is  dead,  and  that  her  mother  is 
going  to  quit  Gravesend  for  Portsmouth,  to  reside  with  her 
brother,  who  is  now  a  widower." 

"  I  will  go  to  Portsmouth,"  replied  our  hero. 

"  I  was  thinking  that,  as  her  brother  is  a  navy-agent, 
and  Mrs  Phillips  is  interested  about  you,  you  could  not  do 
better.  If  anything  turns  up,  then  you  will  have  good 
advice,  and  your  money  is  not  so  likely  to  be  thrown  away. 
I  think,  therefore,  you  had  better  go  to  Portsmouth,  and 
try  your  fortune." 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  have  mentioned  this,  Mary,  for, 
till  now,  one  place  was  as  indifferent  to  me  as  another  ; 
but  now  it  is  otherwise,  and  to  Portsmouth  I  will  certainly 

go." 

Our  hero  remained  two  or  three  days  longer  at  the 
village,  during  which  time  Mary  was  with  him  every  even- 
ing, and  once  she  obtained  leave  to  go  to  the  banker's  about 
her  money.  She  then  turned  over  to  Joey's  account  the 
sum  due  to  him,  and  arrangements  were  made  with  the 
bank  so  that  Joey  could  draw  his  capital  out  whenever  he 
pleased.  After  which  our  hero  took  leave  of  Mary,  pro- 
mising to  correspond  more  freely  than  before ;  and  once 
more  putting  the  strap  of  his  knife-grinder's  wheel  over  his 
shoulders,  he  set  ofF  on  his  journey  to  Portsmouth. 

Joey  had  not  gained  two  miles  from  the  village  when  he 
asked  himself  the  question,  "  What  shall  I  do  with  my 
grindstone  ?  "  He  did  not  like  to  leave  it  on  the  road  ;  he 
did  not  know  to  whom  he  could  give  it  away.  He  rolled 
it  on  for  about  six  miles  farther,  and  then,  quite  tired,  he 
resolved  to  follow  the  plan  formerly  adopted  by  Spikeman, 
and  repose  a  little  upon  the  turf  on  the  road-side.  The 
sun  was  very  warm,  and  after  a  time  Joey  retreated  to  the 
other  side  of  the  hedge,  which  was  shaded  ;  and,  having 
taken  his  bundle  from  the  side  of  the  wheel  where  it  hung, 
he  first  made  his  dinner  of  the  provender  he  had  brought 
with  him,  and  then,  laying  his  head  on  the   bundle,  was 


244  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

soon  in  a  sound  sleep,  from  which  he  was  awakened  by 
hearing  voices  on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge.  He  turned 
round,  and  perceived  two  men  on  the  side  of  the  road, 
close  to  his  knife-grinder's  wheel.  They  were  in  their 
shirts  and  trousers  only,  and  sitting  down  on  the 
turf. 

"  It  would  be  a  very  good  plan,"  observed  one  of  them  ; 
"  we  should  then  travel  without  suspicion." 

"  Yes  ;  if  we  could  get  off  with  it  without  being  dis- 
covered.    Where  can  the  owner  of  it  be  ?  " 

""Well,  I  dare  say  he  is  away  upon  some  business  or 
another,  and  has  left  the  wheel  here  till  he  comes  back. 
Now,    suppose    we    were    to    take    it  —  how    should    we 


manage 


"  Why,  we  cannot  go  along  this  road  with  it.  We 
must  get  over  the  gates  and  hedges  till  we  get  across  the 
country  into  another  road  ;  and  then,  by  travelling  all 
night,  we  might  be  quite  clear." 

"  Yes,  and  then  we  should  do  well ;  for  even  if  our 
description  as  deserters  was  sent  out  from  Portsmouth,  we 
should  be  considered  as  travelling  tinkers,  and  there  would 
be  no  suspicion." 

"Well,  I'm  ready  for  it.  If  we  can  only  get  it  off  the 
road,  and  conceal  it  till  night,  we  may  then  easily  manage 
it.  But  first  let's  see  if  the  fellow  it  belongs  to  may  not 
be  somewhere  about  here." 

As  the  man  said  this  he  rose  up  and  turned  his  face 
towards  the  hedge,  and  our  hero  immediately  perceived 
that  it  was  his  old  acquaintance,  Furness,  the  schoolmaster 
and  marine.  What  to  do  he  hardly  knew.  At  last  he 
perceived  Furness  advancing  towards  the  gate  of  the  field, 
which  was  close  to  where  he  was  lying,  and,  as  escape  was 
impossible,  our  hero  covered  his  face  with  his  arms,  and 
pretended  to  be  fast  asleep.  He  soon  heard  a  "  Hush  !  " 
given,  as  a  signal  to  the  other  man,  and,  after  a  while, 
footsteps  close  to  him.  Joey  pretended  to  snore  loudly, 
and  a  whispering  then  took  place.  At  last  he  heard 
Furness  say — 


The  Poacher  245 

"  Do  you  watch  by  him  while  I  wheel  away  the  grind- 
stone." 

"  But,  if  he  wakes,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Brain  him  with  that  big  stone.  If  he  does  not  wake 
up  when  I  am  past  the  second  field  follow  me." 

That  our  hero  had  no  inclination  to  wake  after  this 
notice  may  be  easily  imagined  ;  he  heard  the  gate  opened, 
and  the  wheel  trundled  away,  much  to  his  delight,  as 
Furness  was  the  party  who  had  it  in  charge  ;  and  Joey 
continued  to  snore  hard,  until  at  last  he  heard  the  departing 
footsteps  of  Furness's  comrade,  who  had  watched  him. 
He  thought  it  prudent  to  continue  motionless  for  some 
time  longer,  to  give  them  time  to  be  well  away  from  him, 
and  then  he  gradually  turned  round  and  looked  in  the 
direction  in  which  they  had  gone  ;  he  could  see  nothing  of 
them,  and  it  was  not  until  he  had  risen  up,  and  climbed  up 
on  the  gate,  that  he  perceived  them  two  or  three  fields  off, 
running  away  at  a  rapid  pace.  Thanking  heaven  that  he 
had  escaped  the  danger  that  he  was  in,  and  delighted  with 
the  loss  of  his  property,  our  hero  recommenced  his  journey 
with  his  bundle  over  his  shoulder,  and  before  night  he  was 
safe  outside  one  of  the  stages,  which  took  him  to  a  town 
from  which  there  was  another  which  would  carry  him  to 
Portsmouth,  at  which  sea-port  he  arrived  the  next  evening 
without  further  adventure. 

As  our  hero  sat  on  the  outside  of  the  coach  and  reflected 
upon  his  last  adventure,  the  more  he  felt  he  had  reason  to 
congratulate  himself.  That  Furness  had  deserted  from 
the  Marine  Barracks  at  Portsmouth  was  evident ;  and  if  he 
had  not,  that  he  would  have  recognised  Joey  some  time  or 
other  was  almost  certain.  Now,  he  felt  sure  that  he  was 
safe  at  Portsmouth,  as  it  would  be  the  last  place  at  which 
Furness  would  make  his  appearance  ;  and  he  also  felt  that 
his  knife-grinder's  wheel,  in  supplying  Furness  with  the 
ostensible  means  of  livelihood,  and  thereby  preventing  his 
being  taken  up  as  a  deserter,  had  proved  the  best  friend  to 
him,  and  could  not  have  been  disposed  of  better.  Another 
piece  of  good  fortune  was  his  having  secured  his  bundle 


246  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  or, 

and  money  ;  for  had  he  left  it  with  the  wheel,  it  would 
have,  of  course,  shared  its  fate.  "  Besides,"  thought  Joey, 
"  if  I  should  chance  to  fall  in  with  Furness  again,  and  he 
attempts  to  approach  me,  I  can  threaten  to  have  him  taken 
as  a  deserter,  and  this  may  deter  him  from  so  doing."  It 
was  with  a  grateful  heart  that  our  hero  laid  his  head  upon 
his  pillow,  in  the  humble  inn  at  which  he  had  taken  up  his 
quarters. 


Chapter    XXXVII 

In  which  our  hero  returns  to  his  former  employment,  but  on  a  grander 
scale  ot"  operation. 

Our  hero  had  received  from  Mary  the  name  and  address 
of  Mrs  Phillips's  brother,  and,  on  inquiry,  found  that  he 
was  known  by  everybody.  Joey  dressed  himself  in  his 
best  suit,  and  presented  himself  at  the  door  about  ten 
o'clock  in  the  morning  as  Joseph  O'Donahue,  the  name 
which  he  had  taken  when  he  went  to  Gravesend,  and  by 
which  name  he  had  been  known  to  Mrs  Phillips  and  her 
daughter  Emma,  when  he  made  occasional  visits  to  their 
house.  He  was  admitted,  and  found  himself  once  more  in 
company  with  his  friend  Emma,  who  was  now  fast  growing 
up  into  womanhood.  After  the  first  congratulations  and 
inquiries,  he  stated  his  intentions  in  coming  down  to 
Portsmouth,  and  their  assistance  was  immediately  promised. 
They  then  requested  a  detail  of  his  adventures  since  he 
quitted  Gravesend,  of  which  Joey  told  everything  that  he 
safely  could  -,  passing  over  his  meeting  with  Furness  by 
simply  stating  that  while  he  was  asleep  his  knife-grinder's 
wheel  had  been  stolen  by  two  men,  and  that  when  he 
awoke  he  dared  not  offer  any  opposition.  Mrs  Phillips 
and  her  daughter  both  knew  that  there  was  some  mystery 
about  our  hero  which  had  induced  him  to  come  to  and  also 
to  leave   Gravesend  ;   but,  being   assured   by  Mary  and 


The  Poacher  247 

himself  that  he  was  not  to  blame,  they  did  not  press 
him  to  say  more  than  he  wished  ;  and,  as  soon  as  he 
finished  his  history,  they  proposed  introducing  him  to  Mr 
Small,  the  brother  of  Mrs  Phillips,  in  whose  house  they 
were  then  residing,  and  who  was  then  in  his  office. 

"  But  perhaps,  mamma,  it  will  be  better  to  wait  till 
to-morrow,  and  in  the  meantime  you  will  be  able  to  tell 
my  uncle  all  about  Joey,"  observed  Emma. 

"  I  think  it  will  be  better,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs 
Phillips  ;  "  but  there  is  Marianne's  tap  at  the  door,  for 
the  second  time  ;  she  wants  me  downstairs,  so  I  must 
leave  you  for  a  little  while  ;  but  you  need  not  go  away, 
O'Donahue  ;  I  will  be  back  soon." 

Mrs  Phillips  left  the  room,  and  our  hero  found  himself 
alone  with  Emma. 

"  You  have  grown  very  much,  Joey,"  said  Emma ; 
"  and  so  have  I  too,  they  tell  me." 

"  Yes,  you  have  indeed,"  replied  Joey  •,  "  you  are  no 
longer  the  little  girl  who  comforted  me  when  I  was  so 
unhappy.     Do  you  recollect  that  day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  do,  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday.  But 
you  have  never  told  me  why  you  lead  so  wandering  a  life  ; 
you  won't  trust  me." 

"  I  would  trust  you  with  anything  but  that  which  is  not 
mine  to  trust,  as  I  told  you  four  years  ago  ;  it  is  not  my 
secret ;  as  soon  as  I  can  I  will  tell  you  everything  ;  but  I 
hope  not  to  lead  a  wandering  life  any  longer,  for  I  have 
come  down  here  to  settle,  if  I  can." 

"  What  made  you  think  of  coming  down  here  ?  "  asked 
Emma. 

"  Because  you  were  here ;  Mary  told  me  so.  I  have 
not  yet  thanked  you  for  your  present,  but  I  have  not 
forgotten  your  kindness  in  thinking  of  a  poor  boy  like  me, 
when  he  was  far  away  ;  here  it  is,"  continued  Joey,  taking 
out  the  pencil-case,  "  and  I  have  loved  it  dearly,"  added 
he,  kissing  it,  "  ever  since  I  have  had  it  in  my  possession. 
I  very  often  have  taken  it  out  and  thought  of  you." 

"  Now  you  are  so  rich  a  man,  you  should  give  me 


248  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

something  to  keep  for  your  sake,"  replied  Emma,  "  and 
I  will  be  very  careful  of  it,  for  old  acquaintance' 
sake." 

"  What  can  I  offer  to  you  ?  you  are  a  young  lady ; 
I  would  give  you  all  I  had  in  the  world,  if  I  dared, 
but " 

"  When  I  first  saw  you,"  rejoined  Emma,  "  you  were 
dressed  as  a  young  gentleman." 

"  Yes,  I  was,"  replied  Joey,  with  a  sigh  ;  and,  as  the 
observation  of  Emma  recalled  to  his  mind  the  kindness 
of  the  M'Shanes,  he  passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes  to 
brush  away  a  tear  or  two  that  started. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  make  you  unhappy,"  said  Emma, 
taking  our  hero's  hand. 

"  I  am  sure  you  did  not,"  replied  Joey,  smiling.  "  Yes, 
I  was  then  as  you  say  ;  but  recollect  that  lately  I  have 
been  a  knife-grinder." 

"  Well,  you  know,  your  friend  said,  that  it  was  the 
nearest  thing  to  a  gentleman  ;  and  now  I  hope  you  will  be 
quite  a  gentleman  again." 

"Not  a  gentleman,  for  I  must  turn  to  some  business 
or  another,"  replied  Joey. 

"  I  did  not  mean  an  idle  gentleman ;  I  meant  a  respect- 
able profession,"  said  Emma.  "  My  uncle  is  a  very  odd 
man,  but  very  good-hearted  ;  you  must  not  mind  his  way 
towards  you.  He  is  very  fond  of  mamma  and  me,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  will  interest  himself  about  you,  and  see 
that  your  money  is  not  thrown  away.  Perhaps  you  would 
like  to  set  up  a  bumboat  on  your  own  account  ? "  added 
Emma,  laughing. 

"  No,  I  thank  you ;  I  had  enough  of  that.  Poor  Mrs 
Chopper !  what  a  kind  creature  she  was !  I'm  sure 
I  ought  to  be  very  grateful  to  her  for  thinking  of  me 
as  she  did." 

"  I  believe,"  said  Emma,  "  that  she  was  a  very  good 
woman,  and  so  does  mamma.  Recollect,  Joey,  when  you 
speak  to  my  uncle,  you  must  not  contradict  him." 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  not,"  replied  Joey  ;  "  why  should 


The  Poacher  249 

I  contradict  a  person  so  far  my  superior  in  years  and 
everything  else  ? " 

"  Certainly  not ;  and  as  he  is  fond  of  argument,  you  had 
better  give  up  to  him  at  once  ;  and,  indeed,"  continued 
Emma,  laughing,  "  everybody  else  does  in  the  end. 
I  hope  you  will  find  a  nice  situation,  and  that  we  shall 
see  a  great  deal  of  you." 

"  I  am  sure  I  do,"  replied  Joey,  "  for  I  have  no  friends 
that  I  may  see,  except  you.  How  I  wish  that  you  did 
know  everything  ! " 

A  silence  ensued  between  the  young  people,  which  was 
not  interrupted  until  by  the  appearance  of  Mrs  Phillips, 
who  had  seen  Mr  Small,  and  had  made  an  engagement  for 
our  hero  to  present  himself  at  nine  o'clock  on  the  following 
morning,  after  which  communication  our  hero  took  his 
leave.  He  amused  himself  during  the  remainder  of  that 
day  in  walking  over  the  town,  which  at  that  time 
presented  a  most  bustling  appearance,  as  an  expedition 
was  fitting  out ;  the  streets  were  crowded  with  officers  of 
the  army,  navy,  and  marines,  in  their  uniforms  ;  soldiers 
and  sailors,  more  or  less  tipsy  j  flaunting  ribbons  and 
gaudy  colours,  and  every  variety  of  noise  was  to  be  heard 
that  could  be  well  imagined,  from  the  quacking  of  a  duck, 
with  its  head  out  of  the  basket  in  which  it  was  confined  to 
be  taken  on  board,  to  the  martial  music,  the  rolling  of  the 
drums,  and  the  occasional  salutes  of  artillery,  to  let  the 
world  know  that  some  great  man  had  put  his  foot  on  board 
of  a  ship,  or  had  again  deigned  to  tread  upon  terra  jirma. 
All  was  bustle  and  excitement,  hurrying,  jostling,  cursing, 
and  swearing ;  and  Joey  found  himself,  by  the  manner  in 
which  he  was  shoved  about  right  and  left,  to  be  in  the 
way  of  everybody. 

At  the  time  appointed  our  hero  made  his  appearance  at 
the  door,  and,  having  given  his  name,  was  asked  into  the 
counting-house  of  the  establishment,  where  sat  Mr  Small 
and  his  factotum,  Mr  Sleek.  It  may  be  as  well  here  to 
describe  the  persons  and  peculiarities  of  these  two  gentle- 
men. 


250  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

Mr  Small  certainly  did  not  accord  with  his  name,  for  he 
was  a  man  full  six  feet  high,  and  stout  in  proportion ;  he 
was  in  face  extremely  plain,  with  a  turned-up  nose ;  but, 
at  the  same  time,  there  was  a  lurking  good-humour  in  his 
countenance,  and  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  which  immediately 
prepossessed  you,  and  in  a  few  minutes  you  forgot  that  he 
was  not  well-favoured.  Mr  Small  was  very  fond  of  an 
argument  and  a  joke,  and  he  had  such  a  forcible  way  of 
maintaining  his  argument  when  he  happened  to  be  near 
you,  that,  as  Emma  had  told  our  hero,  few  people  after  a 
time  ventured  to  contradict  him.  This  mode  of  argument 
was  nothing  more  than  digging  the  hard  knuckles  of  his 
large  hand  into  the  ribs  of  his  opponent — we  should  rather 
say  gradually  gimleting,  as  it  were,  a  hole  in  your  side, 
as  he  heated  in  his  illustrations.  He  was  the  last  person  in 
the  world  in  his  disposition  to  inflict  pain,  even  upon  an 
insect — and  yet,  from  this  habit,  no  one  perhaps  gave  more, 
or  appeared  to  do  so  with  more  malice,  as  his  countenance 
was  radiant  with  good-humour,  at  the  very  time  when  his 
knuckles  were  taking  away  your  breath.  What  made  it 
worse,  was,  that  he  had  a  knack  of  seizing  the  coat  lappet 
with  the  other  hand,  so  that  escape  was  difficult ;  and  when 
he  had  exhausted  all  his  reasoning,  he  would  follow  it  up 
with  a  pressure  of  his  knuckles  under  the  fifth  rib,  saying, 
"  Now  you  feel  the  force  of  my  argument,  don't  you  ?  " 
Everybody  did,  and  no  one  would  oppose  him  unless  the 
table  was  between  them.  It  was  much  the  same  with  his 
jokes :  he  would  utter  them,  and  then,  with  a  loud  laugh, 
and  the  insidious  insertion  of  his  knuckles,  say,  "Do  you 
take  that,  eh  ? "  Mr  Sleek  had  also  his  peculiarity,  and 
was  not  an  agreeable  person  to  argue  with,  for  he  had 
learnt  to  argue  from  his  many  years'  constant  companion- 
ship with  the  head  of  the  firm.  Mr  Sleek  was  a  spare 
man,  deeply  pock-marked  in  the  face,  and  with  a  very  large 
mouth ;  and,  when  speaking,  he  sputtered  to  such  a  degree, 
that  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  conversation  with  him  was  as 
good  as  a  shower-bath.  At  long  range  Mr  Sleek  could 
beat    his    superior   out    of   the    field ;  but,  if  Mr   Small 


The  Poacher  251 

approached  once  to  close  quarters,  Mr  Sleek  gave  in 
immediately.  The  captains  of  the  navy  used  to  assert  that 
this  fibbing  enforcement  of  his  truths,  on  the  part  of  Small, 
was  quite  contrary  to  all  the  rules  of  modern  warfare,  and 
never  would  stand  it,  unless  they  required  an  advance  of 
money ;  and  then,  by  submitting  to  a  certain  quantity  of 
digs  in  the  ribs  in  proportion  to  the  unreasonableness  of 
their  demand,  they  usually  obtained  their  object  •,  as  they 
said,  he  "  knuckled  down"  in  the  end.  As  for  Mr  Sleek, 
although  the  best  man  in  the  world,  he  was  their  abhor- 
rence ;  he  was  nothing  but  a  watering-pot,  and  they  were 
not  plants  which  required  his  aid  to  add  to  their  vigour. 
Mr  Sleek,  even  in  the  largest  company,  invariably  found 
himself  alone,  and  could  never  imagine  why.  Still  he  was 
an  important  personage ;  and  when  stock  is  to  be  got  on 
board  in  a  hurry,  officers  in  his  Majesty's  service  do  not 
care  about  a  little  spray. 

Mr  Small  was,  as  we  have  observed,  a  navy-agent — that 
is  to  say,  he  was  a  general  provider  of  the  officers  and 
captains  of  his  Majesty's  service.  He  obtained  their  agency 
on  any  captures  which  they  might  send  in,  or  he  cashed 
their  bills,  advanced  them  money,  supplied  them  with  their 
wine,  and  every  variety  of  stock  which  might  be  required ; 
and  in  consequence  was  reported  to  be  accumulating  a 
fortune.  As  is  usually  the  case,  he  kept  open  house  for 
the  captains  who  were  his  clients,  and  occasionally  invited 
the  junior  officers  to  the  hospitalities  of  his  table,  so  that 
Mrs  Phillips  and  Emma  were  of  great  use  to  him,  and  had 
quite  sufficient  to  do  in  superintending  such  an  establish- 
ment. Having  thus  made  our  readers  better  acquainted 
with  our  new  characters,  we  shall  proceed. 

"  Well,  young  man,  I've  heard  all  about  you  from  my 
sister.     So  you  wish  to  leave  off  vagabondising,  do  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Joey. 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  can  you  keep  books  ? " 

"I  am  seventeen,  and  have  kept  books,"  replied  our 
hero,  in  innocence ;  for  he  considered  Mrs  Chopper's  day- 
books to  come  under  that  denomination. 


252  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

"  And  you  have  some  money — how  much  ? " 

Joey  replied  that  he  had  so  much  of  his  own,  and  that 
his  sister  had  so  much  more. 

"  Seven  hundred  pounds ;  eh,  youngster  ?  I  began 
business  with  ^100  less  ;  and  here  I  am.  Money  breeds 
money  ;  do  you  understand  that  ? "  and  here  Joey  received 
a  knuckle  in  his  ribs,  which  almost  took  his  breath  away, 
but  which  he  bore  without  flinching,  as  he  presumed  it 
was  a  mark  of  good-will. 

"What  can  we  do  with  this  lad,  Sleek?"  said  Mr 
Small ;  "  and  what  can  we  do  with  his  money  ?  " 

"  Let  him  stay  in  the  counting-house  here  for  a  week," 
replied  Mr  Sleek,  "  and  we  shall  see  what  he  can  do ;  and, 
as  for  his  money,  it  will  be  as  safe  here  as  in  a  country 
bank,  until  we  know  how  to  employ  it,  and  we  can  allow 
5  per  cent,  for  it."  All  this  was  said  in  a  shower  of  spray, 
which  induced  Joey  to  wipe  his  face  with  his  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

"  Yes,  I  think  that  will  do  for  the  present,"  rejoined 
Mr  Small ;  "  but  you  observe,  Sleek,  that  this  young  lad 
has  very  powerful  interest,  and  we  shall  be  expected  to  do 
something  for  him,  or  we  shall  have  the  worst  of  it.  You 
understand  that  ? "  continued  he,  giving  Joey  a  knuckle 
again.     "  The  ladies  !  no  standing  against  them  !  " 

Joey  thought  that  there  was  no  standing  such  digs  in 
the  ribs,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  I  leave  him  to  you,  Sleek.  I  must  be  off  to  call  upon 
Captain  James.  See  to  the  lad's  food  and  lodging. 
There's  an  order  from  the  gun-room  of  the  HecateP  So 
saying,  Mr  Small  departed. 

Mr  Sleek  asked  our  hero  where  he  was  stopping  :  re- 
commended him  another  lodging  close  to  the  house,  with 
directions  how  to  proceed,  and  what  arrangements  to  make  ; 
told  him  to  haste  as  much  as  he  could,  and  then  come  back 
to  the  counting-house. 

In  a  couple  of  hours  our  hero  was  back  again. 

"  Look  on  this  list ;  do  you  understand  it  ?  "  said  Mr 
Sleek  to  Joey ;  "  it  is  sea-stock  for  the  Hecate,  which  sails 


The  Poacher 


253 


in  a  day  or  two.  If  I  send  a  porter  with  you  to  the 
people  we  deal  with,  would  you  be  able  to  get  all  these 
things  which  are  marked  with  a  cross  ?  the  wine  and  the 
others  we  have  here." 

Joey  looked  over  it,  and  was  quite  at  home  ;  it  was  only 
bumboating  on  a  large  scale.  "  O,  yes  j  and  I  know  the 
prices  of  all  these  things,"  replied  he ;  "I  have  been  used 
to  the  supplying  of  ships  at  Gravesend." 

"  Why  then,"  said  Mr  Sleek,  "  you  are  the  very  person 
I  want ;  for  I  have  not  time  to  attend  to  out-door  work 
now." 

The  porter  was  sent  for,  and  our  hero  soon  executed 
his  task,  not  only  with  a  precision,  but  with  a  rapidity, 
that  was  highly  satisfactory  to  Mr  Sleek.  As  soon  as  the 
articles  were  all  collected,  Joey  asked  whether  he  should 
take  them  on  board — "  I  understand  the  work,  Mr  Sleek, 
and  not  even  an  egg  shall  be  broke,  I  promise  you."  The 
second  part  of  the  commission  was  executed  with  the 
same  precision  by  our  hero,  who  returned  with  a  receipt 
of  every  article  having  been  delivered  safe  and  in  good 
condition ;  Mr  Sleek  was  delighted  with  our  hero,  and 
told  Mr  Small  so  when  they  met  in  the  evening.  Mr 
Sleek's  opinion  was  given  in  the  presence  of  Mrs  Phillips 
and  Emma,  who  exchanged  glances  of  satisfaction  at  Joey's 
fortunate  debut. 


Chapter    XXXVIII 

In  which  the  wheel  of  fortune  turns  a  spoke  or  two  in  favour  of  our  hero. 

If  we  were  to  analyse  the  feelings  of  our  hero  towards 
Emma  Phillips,  we  should  hardly  be  warranted  in  saying 
that  he  was  in  love  with  her,  although  at  seventeen  years 
young  men  are  very  apt  to  be,  or  so  to  fancy  themselves. 
The  difference  in  their  positions  was  so  great,  that  although 
our  hero  would,  in  his  dreams,  often  fancy  himself  on 
most  intimate  terms  with  his  kind  little  patroness,  in  his 


254  Joseph  Rushbrook ;   or, 

waking  thoughts  she  was  more  an  object  of  adoration  and 
respect — a  being  to  whom  he  was  most  ardently  and 
devotedly  attached — one  whose  friendship  and  kindness 
had  so  wrought  upon  his  best  feelings  that  he  would  have 
thought  it  no  sacrifice  to  die  for  her ;  but,  the  idea  of  ever 
being  closer  allied  to  her  than  he  now  was  had  not  yet 
entered  into  his  imagination  ;  all  he  ever  thought  was,  that 
if  ever  he  united  himself  to  any  female  for  life,  the  party 
selected  must  be  like  Emma  Phillips ;  or,  if  not,  he  would 
remain  single.  All  his  endeavours  were  to  prove  himself 
worthy  of  her  patronage,  and  to  be  rewarded  by  her  smiles 
of  encouragement  when  they  met.  She  was  the  loadstar 
which  guided  him  on  to  his  path  of  duty,  and,  stimulated 
by  his  wishes  to  find  favour  in  her  sight,  Joey  never 
relaxed  in  his  exertions  ;  naturally  active  and  methodical, 
he  was  indefatigable,  and  gave  the  greatest  satisfaction  to 
Mr  Sleek,  who  found  more  than  half  the  labour  taken  off 
his  hands ;  and,  further,  that  if  Joey  once  said  a  thing 
should  be  done,  it  was  not  only  well  done,  but  done  to 
the  very  time  that  was  stipulated  for  its  completion.  Joey 
cared  not  for  meals,  or  anything  of  that  kind,  and  often 
went  without  his  dinner. 

"Sleek,"  said  Small,  one  day,  "that  poor  boy  will  be 
starved." 

"It's  not  my  fault,  sir;  he  won't  go  to  his  dinner  if 
there  is  anything  to  do  •,  and  as  there  is  always  something 
to  do,  it  is  as  clear  as  the  day  that  he  can  get  no  dinner. 
I  wish  he  was  living  in  the  house  altogether,  and  came  to 
his  meals  with  us,  after  the  work  was  done ;  it  would  be 
very  advantageous,  and  much  time  saved." 

"  Time  is  money,  Sleek.  Time  saved  is  money  saved  ; 
and  therefore,  he  is  worthy  of  his  food.  It  shall  be  so. 
Do  you  see  to  it." 

Thus,  in  about  two  months  after  his  arrival,  Joey  found 
himself  installed  in  a  nice  little  bedroom,  and  living  at  the 
table  of  his  patron,  not  only  constantly  in  company  with 
the  naval  officers,  but,  what  was  of  more  value  to  him  in 
the  company  of  Mrs  Phillips  and  Emma. 


The  Poacher  255 

We  must  pass  over  more  than  a  year,  during  which 
time  our  hero  became  a  person  of  some  importance.  He 
was  a  great  favourite  with  the  naval  captains,  as  his 
punctuality  and  rapidity  corresponded  with  their  ideas  of 
doing  business ;  and  it  was  constantly  said  to  Mr  Sleek  or 
to  Mr  Small,  "  Let  O'Donahue  and  I  settle  the  matter,  and 
all  will  go  right."  Mr  Small  had  already  established  him 
at  a  salary  of  ^150  per  annum,  besides  his  living  in  the 
house,  and  our  hero  was  comfortable  and  happy.  He  was 
well  known  to  all  the  officers,  from  his  being  constantly 
on  board  of  their  ships,  and  was  a  great  favourite.  Joey 
soon  discovered  that  Emma  had  a  fancy  for  natural 
curiosities  ;  and  as  he  boarded  almost  every  man-of-war 
which  came  into  the  port,  he  soon  filled  her  room  with  a 
variety  of  shells  and  of  birds,  which  he  procured  for  her. 
These  were  presents  which  he  could  make  and  which  she 
could  accept,  and  not  a  week  passed  without  our  hero 
adding  something  to  her  museum  of  live  and  dead  objects. 
Indeed,  Emma  was  now  grown  up,  and  was  paid  such 
attention  to  by  the  officers  who  frequented  her  uncle's 
house  (not  only  on  account  of  her  beauty,  but  on  account 
of  the  expectation  that  her  uncle,  who  was  without 
children,  would  give  her  a  handsome  fortune),  that  some 
emotions  of  jealousy,  of  which  he  was  hardly  conscious, 
would  occasionally  give  severe  pain  to  our  hero.  Perhaps, 
as  his  fortunes  rose,  so  did  his  hopes ;  certain  it  is,  that 
sometimes  he  was  very  grave. 

Emma  was  too  clear-sighted  not  to  perceive  the  cause, 
and  hastened,  by  her  little  attentions,  to  remove  the 
feeling ;  not  that  she  had  any  definite  ideas  upon  the 
subject  any  more  than  Joey,  but  she  could  not  bear  to  see 
him  look  unhappy. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things,  when  one  day  Mr  Small 
said  to  Joey,  as  he  was  busy  copying  an  order  into  the 
books,  "  O'Donahue,  I  have  been  laying  out  some  of  your 
money  for  you." 

"  Indeed,  sir  !  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you." 

"  Yes ;  there  was  a  large  stock  of  claret  sold  at  auction 


256  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

to-day ;  it  was  good,  and  went  cheap.  I  have  purchased 
to  the  amount  of  £600  on  your  account.  You  may  bottle 
and  bin  it  here,  and  sell  it  as  you  can.  If  you  don't  like 
the  bargain  I'll  take  it  off  your  hands." 

"  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  sir,"  replied  Joey,  who 
knew  the  kindness  of  the  act,  which,  in  two  months,  more 
than  doubled  his  capital ;  and,  as  he  was  permitted  to 
continue  the  business  on  his  own  account,  he  was  very 
soon  in  a  position  amounting  to  independence,  the  French 
wine  business  being  ever  afterwards  considered  as  ex- 
clusively belonging  to  our  hero. 

One  morning,  as  Joey  happened  to  be  in  the  counting- 
house  by  himself,  which  was  rather  an  unusual  occurrence, 
a  midshipman  came  in.  Joey  remembered  him  very  well, 
as  he  had  been  often  there  before.  "  Good  morning,  Mr 
O'Donahue,"  said  the  midshipman.    "  Is  Mr  Small  within  ?' 

"  No,  he  is  not ;  can  I  do  anything  for  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  if  you  can  tell  me  how  I  am  to  persuade  Mr 
Small  to  advance  me  a  little  money  upon  my  pay,  you  can 
do  something  for  me." 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  an  application  before,"  replied 
Joey,  smiling. 

"  No,  that  I  venture  you  did  not,  and  it  requires  all  the 
impudence  of  a  midshipman  to  make  such  a  one ;  but  the 
fact  is,  Mr  O'Donahue,  I  am  a  mate  with  ^40  a-year,  and 
upon  that  I  have  continued  to  assist  my  poor  old  mother 
up  to  the  present.  She  now  requires  ^10  in  consequence 
of  illness,  and  I  have  not  a  farthing.  I  will  repay  it  if  I 
live,  that  is  certain  j  but  I  have  little  hopes  of  obtaining  it, 
and  nothing  but  my  affection  for  the  old  lady  would  induce 
me  to  risk  the  mortification  of  a  refusal.  It's  true  enough 
that  '  he  who  goes  a  borrowing  goes  a  sorrowing.' " 

"I  fear  it  is ;  but  I  will  so  far  assist  you  as  to  let  you 
know  what  your  only  chance  is.  State  your  case  to  Mr 
Small  as  you  have  to  me  to-day,  and  then  stand  close  to 
him  while  he  answers ;  if  he  puts  his  knuckles  into  your 
ribs  to  enforce  his  arguments,  don't  shrink,  and  then  wait 
the  result  without  interrupting  him." 


The  Poacher  257 

"Well,  I'd  do  more  than  that  for  the  old  lady,"  replied 
the  poor  midshipman,  as  Mr  Small  made  his  appearance. 

The  midshipman  told  his  story  in  very  few  words,  and 
Mr  Small  heard  him  without  interruption.  When  he  had 
finished,  Mr  Small  commenced — 

"  You  see,  my  man,  you  ask  me  to  do  what  no  navy- 
agent  ever  did  before — to  lend  upon  a  promise  to  pay,  and 
that  promise  to  pay  from  a  midshipman.  In  the  first  place, 
I  have  only  the  promise  without  the  security ;  that's  one 
point,  do  you  observe  (a  punch  with  the  knuckles)  ?  And 
then  the  promise  to  pay  depends  whether  you  are  in  the 
country  or  not.  Again,  if  you  have  the  money,  you  may 
not  have  the  inclination  to  pay ;  that's  another  point  (then 
came  another  sharp  impression  into  the  ribs  of  the  middy). 
Then,  again,  it  is  not  even  personal  security,  as  you  may 
be  drowned,  shot,  blown  up,  or  taken  out  of  the  world 
before  any  pay  is  due  to  you ;  and  by  your  death  you 
would  be  unable  to  pay,  if  so  inclined ;  there's  a  third 
point  (and  there  was  a  third  dig,  which  the  middy  stood 
boldly  up  against).  Insure  your  life  you  cannot,  for  you 
have  no  money ;  you,  therefore,  require  me  to  lend  my 
money  upon  no  security  whatever;  for  even  allowing  that 
you  would  pay  if  you  could,  yet  your  death  might  prevent 
it ;  there's  another  point  (and  the  knuckles  again  penetrated 
into  the  midshipman's  side,  who  felt  the  torture  increasing 
as  hope  was  departing).  But,"  continued  Mr  Small,  who 
was  evidently  much  pleased  with  his  own  ratiocination, 
"  there  is  another  point  not  yet  touched  upon,  which  is, 
that  as  good  Christians,  we  must  sometimes  lend  money 
upon  no  security,  or  even  give  it  away,  for  so  are  we 
commanded ;  and,  therefore,  Mr  O'Donahue,  you  will  tell 
Mr  Sleek  to  let  him  have  the  money ;  there's  the  last  and 
best  point  of  all,  eh?"  wound  up  Mr  Small,  with  a 
thumping  blow  upon  the  ribs  of  the  middy  that  almost 
took  away  his  breath.  We  give  this  as  a  specimen  of  Mr 
Small's  style  of  practical  and  theoretical  logic  combined. 

"  The  admiral,  sir,  is   coming   down  the  street,"  said 
Sleek,  entering,  "  and  I  think  he  is  coming  here." 
J.R.  R 


258  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

Mr  Small,  who  did  not  venture  to  chop  logic  with 
admirals,  but  was  excessively  polite  to  such  great  people, 
went  out  to  receive  the  admiral,  hat  in  hand. 

"  Now,  Mr  Small,"  said  the  admiral,  "  the  counting- 
house  for  business,  if  you  please.  I  have  very  unexpected 
orders  to  leave  Portsmouth.  I  must  save  the  next  tide, 
if  possible.  The  ships  will  be  ready,  for  I  know  what 
our  navy  can  do  when  required ;  but,  as  you  know,  I 
have  not  one  atom  of  stock  on  board.  The  flood-tide 
has  made  almost  an  hour,  and  we  must  sail  at  the  first 
of  the  ebb,  as  twelve  hours'  delay  may  be  most  serious. 
Now,  tell  me — here  is  the  list  of  what  is  required ;  boats 
will  be  ready  and  men  in  plenty  to  get  it  on  board ; — 
can  you  get  it  ready  by  that  time  ? " 

"  By  that  time,  Sir  William ! "  replied  Small,  looking 
over  the  tremendous  catalogue. 

"  It's  now  eleven  o'clock ;  can  it  all  be  down  by  four 
o'clock — that  is  the  latest  I  can  give  you  ? " 

"  Impossible,  Sir  William." 

"  It  is  of  the  greatest  importance  that  we  sail  at  five 
o'clock ;  the  fact  is,  I  must  and  will ;  but  it's  hard  that 
I  must  starve  for  a  whole  cruise." 

"Indeed,  Sir  William,"  said  Mr  Small,  "if  it  were 
possible  •,  but  two  cows,  so  many  sheep,  hay,  and  every- 
thing to  be  got  from  the  country  ;  we  never  could  manage 
it.     To-morrow  morning,  perhaps." 

"Well,  Mr  Small,  I  have  appointed  no  prize-agent  yet ; 
had  you  obliged  me " 

Our  hero  now  stepped  forward  and  ran  over  the  list. 

"  Can  you  inform  me,  sir,"  said  he  to  the  flag-captain, 
"  whether  the  Zenobia  or  Orestes  sail  with  the  squadron  ? " 

"  No,  they  do  not,"  was  the  reply. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr  Small,"  said  Joey,  "but  I  do 
think  we  can  accomplish  this  with  a  little  arrangement." 

"  Indeed  !  "  cried  Sir  William. 

"Yes,  Sir  William;  if  you  would  immediately  make 
the  signals  for  two  boats  to  come  on  shore,  with  steady 
crews  to  assist  me,  I  promise  it  shall  be  done." 


The  Poacher  259 

"Well  said,  O'Donahue  ! "  cried  the  captain;  "we 
are  all  right  now,  admiral ;  if  he  says  it  shall  be  done, 
it  will  be  done." 

"  May  I  depend  upon  you,  Mr  O'Donahue  ?" 
"  Yes,  Sir  William ;  everything  shall  be  as  you  wish." 
"Well,  Mr  Small,  if  your  young  man  keeps  his  word, 
you  shall  be  my  prize-agent.     Good  morning  to  you." 

"How  could  you  promise?"  cried  Small,  addressing 
our  hero,  when  the  admiral  and  suite  had  left  the  counting- 
house. 

"  Because  I  can  perform,  sir,"  replied  Joey ;  "  I  have 
the  cows  and  sheep  for  the  Zenobia  and  Orestes,  as  well 
as  the  fodder,  all  ready  in  the  town ;  we  can  get  others 
for  them  to-morrow,  and  I  know  where  to  lay  my  hands 
on  everything  else." 

"  Well,  that's  lucky  !  but  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost." 
Our  hero,  with  his  usual  promptitude  and  activity,  kept 
his  promise  j  and,  as  Mr  Small  said,  it  was  lucky,  for  the 
prize-agency,  in  a  few  months  afterwards,  proved  worth 
to  him  nearly  ^5o0°' 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Joey  neglected  his  corre- 
spondence either  with  Mary  or  Spikeman,  although  with 
the  latter  it  was  not  so  frequent.  Mary  wrote  to  him 
every  month ;  she  had  not  many  subjects  to  enter  upon, 
chiefly  replying  to  Joey's  communications,  and  con- 
gratulating him  upon  his  success.  Indeed,  now  that  our 
hero  had  been  nearly  four  years  with  Mr  Small,  he 
might  be  said  to  be  a  very  rising  and  independent  person. 
His  capital,  which  had  increased  very  considerably,  had 
been  thrown  into  the  business,  and  he  was  now  a  junior 
partner,  instead  of  a  clerk,  and  had  long  enjoyed  the 
full  confidence  both  of  his  superior  and  of  Mr  Sleek, 
who  now  entrusted  him  with  almost  everything.  In 
short,  Joey  was  in  the  fair  way  to  competence  and 
distinction. 


260  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 


Chapter   XXXIX 

A  chapter  of  infinite   variety,  containing    agony,  law,   love,   quarrelling, 
and  suicide. 

It  may  be  a  subject  of  interest  on  the  part  of  the  reader 
to  inquire  what  were  the  relative  positions  of  Emma 
Phillips  and  our  hero,  now  that  four  years  had  passed, 
during  which  time  he  had  been  continually  in  her  company, 
and  gradually,  as  he  rose  in  importance,  removing  the 
distance  that  was  between  them.  We  have  only  to  reply, 
that  the  consequences  natural  to  such  a  case  did  ensue. 
Every  year  their  intimacy  increased — every  year  added  to 
the  hopes  of  our  hero,  who  now  no  longer  looked  upon  an 
alliance  with  Emma  as  impossible  j  yet  he  still  never  felt 
sufficient  confidence  in  himself  or  his  fortunes  to  intimate 
such  a  thought  to  her ;  indeed,  from  a  long  habit  of 
veneration  and  respect,  he  was  in  the  position  of  a  subject 
before  a  queen  who  feels  a  partiality  towards  him ;  he 
dared  not  give  vent  to  his  thoughts,  and  it  remained  for 
her  to  have  the  unfeminine  task  of  intimating  to  him  that 
he  might  venture.  But,  although  to  outward  appearance 
there  was  nothing  but  respect  and  feelings  of  gratitude  on 
his  part,  and  condescension  and  amiability  on  hers,  there 
was  a  rapid  adhesion  going  on  within.  Their  interviews 
were  more  restrained,  their  words  more  selected ;  for 
both  parties  felt  how  strong  were  the  feelings  which  they 
would  repress  ;  they  were  both  pensive,  silent,  and  distant 
— would  talk  unconnectedly,  running  from  one  subject 
to  another,  attempting  to  be  lively  and  unconcerned  when 
they  were  most  inclined  to  be  otherwise,  and  not  daring 
to  scrutinise  too  minutely  their  own  feelings  when  they 
found  themselves  alone  ;  but  what  they  would  fain  conceal 
from  themselves  their  very  attempts  to  conceal  made 
known  to  other  people  who  were  standing  by.  Both  Mrs 
Phillips  and  Mr  Small  perceived  how  matters  stood,  and, 
had    they   had   any    objections,    would   have   immediately 


The  Poacher  261 

no  longer  permitted  them  to  be  in  contact :  but  they  had 
no  objections ;  for  our  hero  had  long  won  the  hearts  of 
both  mother  and  uncle,  and  they  awaited  quietly  the  time 
which  should  arrive  when  the  young  parties  should  no 
longer  conceal  their  feelings  for  each  other. 

It  was  when  affairs  were  between  our  hero  and  Emma 
Phillips  as  we  have  just  stated,  that  a  circumstance  took 
place  which,  for  a  time,  embittered  all  our  hero's  happiness. 
He  was  walking  down  High-street,  when  he  perceived 
a  file  of  marines  marching  towards  him  with  two  men 
between  them  handcuffed,  evidently  deserters  who  had 
been  taken  up.  A  feeling  of  alarm  pervaded  our  hero ;  he 
had  a  presentiment  which  induced  him  to  go  into  a 
perfumer's  shop  and  to  remain  there,  so  as  to  have  a  view 
of  the  faces  of  the  deserters  as  they  passed  along  without 
their  being  able  to  see  him.  His  forebodings  were 
correct ;  one  of  them  was  his  old  enemy  and  persecutor, 
Fnrness,  the  schoolmaster. 

Had  a  dagger  been  plunged  into  Joey's  bosom  the 
sensation  could  not  have  been  more  painful  than  what  he 
felt  when  he  once  more  found  himself  so  near  to  his 
dreaded  denouncer.  For  a  short  time  he  remained  so 
transfixed  that  the  woman  who  was  attending  in  the  shop 
asked  whether  she  should  bring  him  a  glass  of  water. 
This  inquiry  made  him  recollect  himself,  and,  complaining 
of  a  sudden  pain  in  the  side,  he  sat  down,  and  took  the 
water  when  it  was  brought ;  but  he  went  home  in  despair, 
quite  forgetting  the  business  which  brought  him  out, 
and  retired  to  his  own  room  that  he  might  collect  his 
thoughts.  "What  was  he  to  do  ?  This  man  had  been 
brought  back  to  the  barracks;  he  would  be  tried  and 
punished,  and  afterwards  be  set  at  liberty.  How  was  it 
possible  that  he  could  always  avoid  him,  or  escape  being 
recognised  ?  and  how  little  chance  had  he  of  escape  from 
Furness's  searching  eye !  Could  he  bribe  him  ?  Yes,  he 
could  now ;  he  was  rich  enough ;  but,  if  he  did,  one  bribe 
would  only  be  followed  up  by  a  demand  for  another,  and 
a  threat  of  denouncement  if  he  refused.     Flight  appeared 


262  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

his  only  chance ;  but,  to  leave  his  present  position — to 
leave  Emma — it  was  impossible.  Our  hero  did  not  leave 
his  room  for  the  remainder  of  the  day,  but  retired  early  to 
bed  that  he  might  cogitate,  for  sleep  he  could  not.  After 
a  night  of  misery,  the  effects  of  which  were  too  visibly 
marked  in  his  countenance  on  the  ensuing  morning,  Joey 
determined  to  make  some  inquiries  relative  to  what  the 
fate  of  Furness  might  be  ;  and,  having  made  up  his  mind, 
he  accosted  a  sergeant  of  marines,  with  whom  he  had  a 
slight  acquaintance,  and  whom  he  fell  in  with  in  the  streets. 
He  observed  to  him,  that  he  perceived  they  had  deserters 
brought  in  yesterday,  and  inquired  from  what  ship  they  had 
deserted,  or  from  the  barracks.  The  sergeant  replied  that 
they  had  deserted  from  the  Niobe  frigate,  and  had  committed 
theft  previous  to  desertion  ;  that  they  would  remain  in  con- 
finement at  the  barracks  till  the  Niobe  arrived,  and  that  then 
they  would  be  tried  by  a  court-martial,  and,  without 
doubt,  for  the  double  offence,  would  go  through  the  fleet. 

Joey  wished  the  sergeant  good  morning,  and  passed  on 
in  his  way  home.  His  altered  appearance  had  attracted 
the  notice  of  not  only  his  partners,  but  of  Mrs  Phillips, 
and  had  caused  much  distress  to  the  latter.  Our  hero 
remained  the  whole  day  in  the  counting-house,  apparently 
unconcerned,  but  in  reality  thinking,  over  and  over  again, 
his  former  thoughts.  At  last  he  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  would  wait  the  issue  of  the  court-martial  before  he 
took  any  decided  steps ;  indeed,  what  to  do  he  knew 
not. 

"We  leave  the  reader  to  guess  the  state  of  mind  in  which 
Joey  remained  for  a  fortnight  previous  to  the  return  of 
the  Niobe  frigate  from  a  Channel  cruise.  Two  days 
after  her  arrival,  the  signal  was  made  for  a  court-martial ; 
the  sentence  was  well  known  before  night ;  it  was,  that 
the  culprits  were  to  go  through  the  fleet  on  the  ensuing 
day. 

This  was,  however,  no  consolation  to  our  hero  ;  he  did 
not  feel  animosity  against  Furness,  so  much  as  he  did 
dread  of  him  ;  he  did  not  want  his  punishment,  but  his 


The  Poacher  263 

absence,  and  security  against  future  annoyance.  It  was 
about  nine  o'clock  on  the  next  morning,  when  the  punish- 
ment was  to  take  place,  that  Joey  came  down  from  his 
own  room ;  he  had  been  thinking  all  night,  and  had 
decided  that  he  had  no  other  resource  but  to  quit  Ports- 
mouth, Emma,  and  his  fair  prospects  for  ever  ;  he  had 
resolved  so  to  do,  to  make  this  sacrifice ;  it  was  a  bitter 
conclusion  to  arrive  at,  but  it  had  been  come  to.  His 
haggard  countenance,  when  he  made  his  appearance  at 
the  breakfast-table,  shocked  Mrs  Phillips  and  Emma, 
but  they  made  no  remarks ;  the  breakfast  was  passed 
over  in  silence,  and  soon  afterwards  our  hero  found 
himself  alone  with  Emma,  who  immediately  went  to  him, 
and  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  said,  "What  is  the  matter 
with  you  ?  you  look  so  ill,  you  alarm  us  all,  and  you 
make  me  quite  miserable." 

"lam  afraid,  Miss  Phillips " 

"  Miss  Phillips  !  "  replied  Emma. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  but,  Emma,  I  am  afraid  that  I 
must  leave  you." 

"  Leave  us  !  " 

"  Yes,  leave  you  and  Portsmouth  for  ever,  perhaps." 

"  Why,  what  has  occurred  ?  " 

"  I  cannot,  dare  not  tell ;  will  you  so  far  oblige  me  to 
say  nothing  at  present ;  but  you  recollect  that  I  was 
obliged  to  leave  Gravesend  on  a  sudden." 

"  I  recollect  you  did,  but  why  I  know  not  j  only  Mary 
said  that  it  was  not  your  fault." 

"  I  trust  it  was  not  so  ;  but  it  was  my  misfortune. 
Emma,  I  am  almost  distracted;  I  have  not  slept  for  weeks; 
but  pray,  believe  me,  when  I  say,  that  I  have  done  no 
wrong  ;  indeed " 

"  We  are  interrupted,"  said  Emma,  hurriedly  ;  "  there 
is  somebody  coming  up  stairs." 

She  had  hardly  time  to  remove  a  few  feet  from  our 

hero,    when    Captain    B ,   of  the  Niobe,    entered    the 

room. 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Phillips,  I  hope  you  are  well  j 


264  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

I  just  looked  in  for  a  moment  before  I  go  to  the  Admiral's 
office  ;  we  have  had  a  catastrophe  on  board  the  Niobe, 
which  I  must  report  immediately." 

"  Indeed,"  replied  Emma ;  "  nothing  very  serious,  I 
hope." 

"  Why  no,  only  rid  of  a  blackguard  not  worth  hanging; 
one  of  the  marines,  who  was  to  have  gone  round  the  fleet 
this  morning,  when  he  went  to  the  fore  part  of  the  ship 
under  the  sentry's  charge,  leaped  overboard,  and  drowned 
himself." 

"  What  was  his  name,  Captain  B ?  "  inquired  Joey, 

seizing  him  by  the  arm. 

"  His  name  —  why,  how  can  that  interest  you, 
O'Donahue  ?  Well,  if  you  wish  to  know,  it  was 
Furness." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  him,"  replied  our  hero.  "  I 
knew  him  once  when  he  was  in  better  circumstances,  that 
is  all  ; "  and  Joey,  no  longer  daring  to  trust  himself  with 
others,  quitted  the  room,  and  went  to  his  own  apartment. 
As  soon  as  he  was  there  he  knelt  down  and  returned 
thanks,  not  for  the  death  of  Furness,  but  for  the  removal 
of  the  load  which  had  so  oppressed  his  mind.  In  an  hour 
his  relief  was  so  great  that  he  felt  himself  sufficiently 
composed  to  go  downstairs ;  he  went  into  the  drawing- 
room  to  find  Emma,  but  she  was  not  there.  He  longed 
to  have  some  explanation  with  her,  but  it  was  not  until 
the  next  day  that  he  had  an  opportunity. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  say  to  you,"  said  our  hero, 
"  or  how  to  explain  my  conduct  of  yesterday." 

"  It    certainly    appeared    very    strange,    especially    to 

Captain  B ,  who  told  me  that  he  thought  you  were 

mad." 

"  I  care  little  what  he  thinks,  but  I  care  much  what  you 
think,  Emma  ;  and  I  must  now  tell  you  what,  perhaps,  this 
man's  death  may  permit  me  to  do.  That  he  has  been  most 
strangely  connected  with  my  life  is  most  true ;  he  it  was 
who  knew  me,  and  who  would,  if  he  could,  have  put  me 
in  a  situation  in  which  I  must  either  have  suffered  myself 


The  Poacher  265 

to  be  thought  guilty  of  a  crime  which  I  am  incapable  of, 
or — let  it  suffice  to  say — have  done,  to  exculpate  myself, 
what  I  trust  I  never  would  have  done,  or  ever  will  do.  I 
can  say  no  more  than  that,  without  betraying  a  secret 
which  I  am  bound  to  keep,  and  the  keeping  of  which  may 
still  prove  my  own  destruction.  When  you  first  saw  me 
on  the  wayside,  Emma,  it  was  this  man  who  forced  me 
from  a  happy  home  to  wander  about  the  world  ;  it  was 
the  re-appearance  of  this  man,  and  his  recognition  of  me, 
that  induced  me  to  quit  Gravesend  so  suddenly.  I  again 
met  him,  and  avoided  him,  when  he  was  deserting  ;  and  I 
trusted  that,  as  he  had  deserted,  I  could  be  certain  of 
living  safely  in  this  town  without  meeting  with  him.  It 
was  his  re-appearance  here,  as  a  deserter  taken  up,  which 
put  me  in  that  state  of  agony  which  you  have  seen  me  in 
for  these  last  three  weeks  ;  and  it  was  the  knowledge  that, 
after  his  punishment,  he  would  be  again  free,  and  likely  to 
meet  with  me  when  walking  about  here,  which  resolved 
me  to  quit  Portsmouth,  as  I  said  to  you  yesterday 
morning.  Can  you,  therefore,  be  surprised  at  my  emotion 
when  I  heard  that  he  was  removed,  and  that  there  was 
now  no  necessity  for  my  quitting  my  kind  patrons  and 
you?" 

"  Certainly,  after  this  explanation,  I  cannot  be  surprised 
at  your  emotion ;  but  what  does  surprise  me,  Mr 
O'Donahue,  is  that  you  should  have  a  secret  of  such 
importance  that  it  cannot  be  revealed,  and  which  has  made 
you  tremble  at  the  recognition  of  that  man,  when  at  the 
same  time  you  declare  your  innocence.  Did  innocence  and 
mystery  ever  walk  hand  in  hand  ?  " 

"  Your  addressing  me  as  Mr  O'Donahue,  Miss  Phillips, 
has  pointed  out  to  me  the  impropriety  I  have  been  guilty 
of  in  making  use  of  your  Christian  name.  I  thought  that 
that  confidence  which  you  placed  in  me  when  as  a  mere 
boy  I  told  you  exactly  what  I  now  repeat,  that  the  secret 
was  not  my  own,  would  not  have  been  now  so  cruelly 
withdrawn.  I  have  never  varied  in  my  tale,  and  I  can 
honestly  say  that  I  have  never  felt  degraded  when  I  have 


266  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

admitted  that  I  have  a  mystery  connected  with  me  ;  nay, 
if  it  should  please  Heaven  that  I  have  the  option  given  me 
to  suffer  in  my  own  person,  or  reveal  the  secret  in  ques- 
tion, I  trust  that  I  shall  submit  to  my  fate  with  constancy, 
and  be  supported  in  my  misfortune  by  the  conviction  of 
my  innocence.  I  feel  that  I  was  not  wrong  in  the  com- 
munication that  I  made  to  you  yesterday  morning,  that  I 
must  leave  this  place.  I  came  here  because  you  were 
living  here — you  to  whom  I  felt  so  devoted  for  your 
kindness  and  sympathy  when  I  was  poor  and  friendless  ; 
now  that  I  am  otherwise,  you  are  pleased  to  withdraw  not 
only  your  good-will  but  your  confidence  in  me  ;  and  as 
the  spell  is  broken  which  has  drawn  me  to  this  spot,  I 
repeat,  that  as  soon  as  I  can,  with  justice  to  my  patrons,  I 
shall  withdraw  myself  from  your  presence." 

Our  hero's  voice  faltered  before  he  had  finished 
speaking  ;  and  then  turning  away  slowly,  without  looking 
up,  he  quitted  the  room. 


Chapter  XL 

In  which  our  hero  tries  change  of  air. 

The  reader  will  observe  that  there  has  been  a  little 
altercation  at  the  end  of  the  last  chapter.  Emma  Phillips 
was  guilty  of  letting  drop  a  received  truism*  or  rather  a 
metaphor,  which  offended  our  hero.  "  Did  innocence  and 
mystery  ever  walk  hand  in  hand  ?  "  If  Emma  had  put  that 
question  to  us,  we,  from  our  knowledge  of  the  world, 
should  have  replied,  "  Yes,  very  often,  my  dear  Miss 
Phillips."  But  Emma  was  wrong,  not  only  in  her  metaphor, 
but  in  the  time  of  her  making  it.  Why  did  she  do  so  ? 
Ah  !  that  is  a  puzzling  question  to  answer  j  we  can  only 
say,  at  our  imminent  risk,  when  this  narrative  shall  be 
perused  by  the  other  sex,  that  we  have  made  the  discovery 
that  women  are  not  perfect ;  that  the  very  best  of  the  sex 
are  full  of  contradiction,  and  that  Emma  was  a  woman. 


The  Poacher  267 

That  women  very  often  are  more  endowed  than  the 
generality  of  men  we  are  ready  to  admit ;  and  their  cause 
has  been  taken  up  by  Lady  Morgan,  Mrs  Jamieson,  and 
many  others,  who  can  write  much  better  than  we  can. 
When  we  say  their  cause,  we  mean  the  right  of  equality 
they  would  claim  with  our  sex,  and  not  subjection  to  it. 
Reading  my  Lady  Morgan  the  other  day,  which,  next  to 
conversing  with  her,  is  one  of  the  greatest  treats  we  know 
of,  we  began  to  speculate  upon  what  were  the  causes  which 
had  subjected  woman  to  man ;  in  other  words,  how  was  it 
that  man  had  got  the  upper  hand,  and  kept  it  ?  That 
women's  minds  were  not  inferior  to  men's,  we  were  forced 
to  admit  j  that  their  aptitude  for  cultivation  is  often  greater, 
was  not  to  be  denied.  As  to  the  assertion  that  man  makes 
laws,  or  that  his  frame  is  of  more  robust  material,  it  is  no 
argument,  as  a  revolt  on  the  part  of  the  other  sex  would 
soon  do  away  with  such  advantage  ;  and  men  brought  up 
as  nursery-maids  would  soon  succumb  to  women  who 
were  accustomed  to  athletic  sports  from  their  youth  up- 
wards. After  a  great  deal  of  cogitation  we  came  to  the 
conclusion,  that  there  is  a  great  difference  between  the 
action  in  the  minds  of  men  and  women  ;  the  machinery  of 
the  latter  being  more  complex  than  that  of  our  own  sex. 
A  man's  mind  is  his  despot ;  it  works  but  by  one  single 
action  ;  it  has  one  ruling  principle — one  propelling  power 
to  which  all  is  subservient.  This  power  or  passion  (dis- 
guised and  dormant  as  it  may  be  in  feeble  minds)  is  the 
only  one  which  propels  him  on  ;  this  primum  mobile,  as  it 
may  be  termed,  is  ambition,  or,  in  other  words,  self-love ; 
everything  is  sacrificed  to  it. 

Now,  as  in  proportion  as  a  machine  is  simple  so  is  it  strong 
in  its  action — so  in  proportion  that  a  machine  is  complex, 
it  becomes  weak  ;  and  if  we  analyse  a  woman's  mind,  we 
shall  find  that  her  inferiority  arises  from  the  simple  fact, 
that  there  are  so  many  wheels  within  wheels  working  in  it, 
so  many  compensating  balances  (if  we  may  use  the  term, 
and  we  use  it  to  her  honour),  that,  although  usually  more 
right-minded  than  man,  her  strength  of  action  is  lost,  and 


268  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

has  become  feeble  by  the  time  that  her  decision  has  been 
made.  What  will  a  man  allow  to  stand  in  the  way  of  his 
ambition — love  ?  no — friendship  ?  no — he  will  sacrifice  the 
best  qualities,  and,  which  is  more  difficult,  make  the  worst 
that  are  in  his  disposition  subservient  to  it.  He  moves  only 
one  great  principle,  one  propelling  power — and  the  action 
being  single,  it  is  strong  in  proportion.  But  will  a 
woman's  mind  decide  in  this  way  ?  Will  she  sacrifice  to 
ambition,  love  or  friendship,  or  natural  ties  ?  No  ;  in  her 
mind  the  claims  of  each  are,  generally  speaking,  fairly 
balanced — and  the  quotient,  after  the  calculation  has  been 
worked  out,  although  correct,  is  small.  Our  argument, 
after  all,  only  goes  to  prove  that  women,  abstractedly 
taken,  have  more  principle,  more  conscience,  and  better 
regulated  minds  than  men — which  is  true  if — if  they  could 
always  go  correct  as  timekeepers  j  but  the  more  complex 
the  machine,  the  more  difficult  it  is  to  keep  it  in  order,  the 
more  likely  it  is  to  be  out  of  repair,  and  its  movements  to 
be  disarranged  by  a  trifling  shock,  which  would  have  no 
effect  upon  one  of  such  simple  and  powerful  construction 
as  that  in  our  own  sex.  Not  only  do  they  often  go  wrong, 
but  sometimes  the  serious  shocks  which  they  are  liable 
to  in  this  world  will  put  them  in  a  state  which  is  past  all 
repair. 

We  have  no  doubt  that  by  this  time  the  reader  will  say, 
"  Never  mind  women's  minds,  but  mind  your  own  business." 
We  left  Emma  in  the  drawing-room,  rather  astonished  at 
our  hero's  long  speech,  and  still  more  by  his  (for  the  first 
time  during  their  acquaintance)  venturing  to  breathe  a 
contrary  opinion  to  her  own  sweet  self. 

Emma  Phillips,  although  she  pouted  a  little,  and  the 
colour  had  mounted  to  her  temples,  nevertheless  looked 
very  lovely  as  she  pensively  reclined  on  the  sofa.  Rebuked 
by  him  who  had  always  been  so  attentive,  so  submissive — 
her  creature  as  it  were — she  was  mortified,  as  every  pretty 
woman  is,  at  any  loss  of  power — any  symptoms  of  rebellion 
on  the  part  of  a  liege  vassal ;  and  then  she  taxed  herself, 
had    she    done   wrong  ?     She    had    said    "  Innocence    and 


zss> 


The  Poacher  2,69 

mystery  did  not  walk  hand  in  hand."  Was  not  that  true  ? 
She  felt  that  it  was  true,  and  her  own  opinion  was  cor- 
roborated by  others,  for  she  had  read  it  in  some  book, 
either  in  Burke,  or  Rochefoucault,  or  some  great  author. 
Miss  Phillips  bit  the  tip  of  her  nail  and  thought  again. 
Yes,  she  saw  how  it  was  ;  our  hero  had  risen  in  the  world, 
was  independent,  and  was  well  received  in  society ;  he 
was  no  longer  the  little  Joey  of  Gravesend ;  he  was  now 
a  person  of  some  consequence,  and  he  was  a  very  ungrateful 
fellow ;  but  the  world  was  full  of  ingratitude ;  still  she 
did  think  better  of  our  hero  ;  she  certainly  did.  Well ; 
at  all  events  she  could  prove  to  him  that — what, — she  did 
not  exactly  know.  Thus  ended  cogitation  the  second, 
after  which  came  another  series. 

What  had  our  hero  said — what  had  he  accused  her  of? 
that  she  no  longer  bestowed  on  him  her  confidence  placed 
in  him  for  many  years.  This  was  true  j  but  were  not  the 
relative  positions,  was  not  the  case  different  ?  Should  he 
now  retain  any  secret  from  her  ? — there  should  be  no 
secrets  between  them.  There  again  there  was  a  full  stop 
before  the  sentence  was  complete.  After  a  little  more 
reflection,  her  own  generous  mind  pointed  out  to  her  that 
she  had  been  in  the  wrong  ;  and  that  our  hero  had  cause 
to  be  offended  with  her;  and  she  made  up  her  mind  to 
make  reparation  the  first  time  that  they  should  be  alone. 

Having  come  to  this  resolution,  she  dismissed  the  pre- 
vious question,  and  began  to  think  about  the  secret  itself, 
and  what  it  possibly  could  be,  and  how  she  wished  she 
knew  what  it  was,  all  of  which  was  very  natural.  In  the 
meantime  our  hero  had  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  Ports- 
mouth, for  a  time  at  all  events.  This  quarrel  with  Emma, 
if  such  it  might  be  considered,  had  made  him  very  miser- 
able, and  the  anxiety  he  had  lately  suffered  had  seriously 
affected  his  health. 

We  believe  that  there  never  was  anybody  in  this  world 
who  had  grown  to  man's  or  woman's  estate,  and  had 
mixed  with  the  world,  who  could  afterwards  say  that  they 
were  at  any  time  perfectly  happy ;    or  who,  having  said 


270  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

so,  did  not  find  that  the  reverse  was  the  case  a  moment  or 
two  after  the  words  were  out  of  their  mouth.  "  There  is 
always  something,"  as  a  good  lady  said  to  us  ;  and  so 
there  always  is,  and  always  will  be.  The  removal  of 
Furness  was  naturally  a  great  relief  to  the  mind  of  our 
hero  ;  he  then  felt  as  if  all  his  difficulties  were  surmounted, 
and  that  he  had  no  longer  any  fear  of  the  consequences 
which  might  ensue  from  his  father's  crime.  He  would 
now,  he  thought,  be  able  to  walk  boldly  through  the 
world  without  recognition,  and  he  had  built  castles  enough 
to  form  a  metropolis  when  his  rupture  with  Emma  broke 
the  magic  mirror  through  which  he  had  scanned  futurity. 
When  most  buoyant  with  hope,  he  found  the  truth  of 
the  good  lady's  saying — "  There  is  always  some- 
thing." 

After  remaining  in  his  room  for  an  hour,  Joey  went 
down  to  the  counting-house,  where  he  found  Mr  Small 
and  Mr  Sleek  both  at  work,  for  their  labours  had  increased 
since  Joey  had  so  much  neglected  business. 

"Well,  my  good  friend,  how  do  you  find  yourself?" 
said  Mr  Small. 

"Very  far  from  well,  sir.  I  feel  that  I  cannot  attend 
to  business,"  replied  Joey,  "  and  I  am  quite  ashamed 
of  myself.  I  was  thinking  that,  if  you  have  no  objection 
to  allow  me  a  couple  of  months'  leave  of  absence,  change 
of  air  would  be  very  serviceable  to  me.  I  have  something 
to  do  at  Dudstone,  which  I  have  put  off  ever  since  I  came 
to  Portsmouth." 

"  I  think  change  of  air  will  be  very  serviceable  to  you, 
my  dear  fellow,"  replied  Mr  Small ;  "  but  what  business 
you  can  have  at  Dudstone  I  cannot  imagine." 

"  Simply  this — I  locked  up  my  apartments,  leaving  my 
furniture,  books,  and  linen,  when  I  went  away  more  than 
four  years  ago,  and  have  never  found  time  to  look  after 
them." 

"  Well,  they  must  want  dusting  by  this  time,  O'Donahue, 
so  look  after  them,  if  you  please ;  but  I  think  looking  after 
your  health  is  of  more  consequence,  so  you  have  my  full 


The  Poacher  271 

consent  to  take  a  holiday,  and  remain  away  three  months, 
if  necessary,  till  you  are  perfectly  re-established." 

"  And  you  have  mine,"  added  Mr  Sleek,  "  and  I  will  do 
your  work  while  you  are  away." 

Our  hero  thanked  his  senior  partners  for  their  kind  com- 
pliance with  his  wishes,  and  stated  his  intention  of  starting 
the  next  morning  by  the  early  coach,  and  then  left  the 
counting-house  to  make  preparations  for  his  journey. 

Joey  joined  the  party,  which  was  numerous,  at  dinner. 
It  was  not  until  they  were  in  the  drawing-room  after  dinner 
that  Mr  Small  had  an  opportunity  of  communicating  to  Mrs 
Phillips  what  were  our  hero's  intentions.  Mrs  Phillips  con- 
sidered it  a  very  advisable  measure,  as  Joey  had  evidently 
suffered  very  much  lately ;  probably  over-exertion  might 
have  been  the  cause,  and  relaxation  would  effect  the  cure. 

Emma,  who  was  sitting  by  her  mother,  turned  pale ;  she 
had  not  imagined  that  our  hero  would  have  followed  up 
his  expressed  intentions  of  the  morning,  and  she  asked  Mr 
Small  if  he  knew  when  O'Donahue  would  leave  Ports- 
mouth. The  reply  was,  that  he  had  taken  his  place  on  the 
early  coach  of  the  next  morning ;  and  Emma  fell  back  on 
the  sofa,  and  did  not  say  anything  more. 

When  the  company  had  all  left,  Mrs  Phillips  rose,  and 
lighted  a  chamber  candlestick  to  go  to  bed,  and  Emma 
followed  the  motions  of  her  mother.  Mrs  Phillips  shook 
hands  with  our  hero,  wishing  him  a  great  deal  of  pleasure, 
and  that  he  would  return  quite  restored  in  health.  Emma, 
who  found  that  all  chance  of  an  interview  with  our  hero 
was  gone,  mustered  up  courage  enough  to  extend  her  hand, 
and  say, — "  I  hope  your  absence  will  be  productive  of 
health  and  happiness  to  you,  Mr  O'Donahue,"  and  then 
followed  her  mother. 

Joey,  who  was  in  no  humour  for  conversation,  then  bade 
farewell  to  Mr  Small  and  Mr  Sleek,  and,  before  Emma  had 
risen  from  not  a  very  refreshing  night's  rest,  he  was  two 
stages  on  his  way  from  Portsmouth. 


i"]2  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

Chapter    XLI 

In  which  our  hero  has  his  head  turned  the  wrong  way. 

Although  it  may  be  very  proper,  when  an  offence  has 
been  offered  us,  to  show  that  we  feel  the  injury,  it  often 
happens  that  we  act  too  much  upon  impulse  and  carry 
measures  to  extremities  ;  and  this  our  hero  felt  as  the 
coach  wheeled  him  along,  every  second  increasing  his 
distance  from  Emma  Phillips  ;  twenty  times  he  was  inclined 
to  take  a  post-chaise  and  return,  but  the  inconsistency 
would  have  been  so  glaring,  that  shame  prevented  him ;  so 
he  went  on  until  he  reached  the  metropolis,  and  on  arriving 
there,  having  nothing  better  to  do,  he  went  to  bed.  The 
next  day  he  booked  himself  for  the  following  day's  coach 
to  Manstone,  and  having  so  done,  he  thought  he  would 
reconnoitre  the  domicile  of  Major  and  Mrs  M'Shane,  and, 
now  that  Furness  was  no  longer  to  be  dreaded,  make  his 
existence  known  to  them.  He  went  to  Holborn  accord- 
ingly, and  found  the  shop  in  the  same  place,  with  the  usual 
enticing  odour  sent  forth  from  the  grating  which  gave  light 
and  air  to  the  kitchen  ;  but  he  perceived  that  there  was  no 
longer  the  name  of  M'Shane  on  the  private  door,  and  enter- 
ing the  coffee-room,  and  looking  towards  the  spot  where 
Mrs  M'Shane  usually  stood  carving  the  joint,  he  discovered 
a  person  similarly  employed  whose  face  was  unknown  to 
him ;  in  fact,  it  could  not  be  Mrs  M'Shane,  as  it  was  a  man. 
Our  hero  went  up  to  him,  and  inquired  if  the  M'Shanes 
still  carried  on  the  business,  and  was  told  that  they  had 
sold  it  some  time  back.  His  next  inquiry,  as  to  what  had 
become  of  them,  produced  an  "I  don't  know,"  with  some 
symptoms  of  impatience  at  being  interrupted.  Under  such 
circumstances,  our  hero  had  nothing  more  to  do  but  either 
to  sit  down  and  eat  beef  or  to  quit  the  premises.  He  pre- 
ferred the  latter,  and  was  once  more  at  the  hotel,  where  he 
dedicated  the  remainder  of  the  day  to  thinking  of  his  old 
friends,  as  fate  had  debarred  him  from  seeing  them. 


■    ■■■■ 


The  Poacher  273 

The  next  morning  Joey  set  off  by  the  coach,  and  arrived 
at  Manstone  a  little  before  dusk.  He  remained  at  the 
principal  inn  in  the  village,  called  the  Austin  Arms,  in 
honour  of  the  property  in  the  immediate  vicinity ;  and, 
having  looked  at  the  various  quarterings  of  arms  that  the 
sign-board  contained,  without  the  slightest  idea  that  they 
appertained  to  himself,  he  ordered  supper,  and  looking  out 
of  the  window  of  the  first  floor,  discovered,  at  no  great 
distance  down  the  one  street  which  composed  the  village, 
the  small  ale-house  where  he  had  before  met  Mary.  Our 
hero  no  longer  felt  the  pride  of  poverty  ;  he  had  resented 
the  treatment  he  had  received  at  the  Hall  when  friendless, 
but,  now  that  he  was  otherwise,  he  had  overcome  the 
feeling,  and  had  resolved  to  go  up  to  the  Hall  on  the 
following  day,  and  ask  for  Mary.  He  was  now  well 
dressed,  and  with  all  the  appearance  and  manners  of  a 
gentleman ;  and,  moreover,  he  had  been  so  accustomed 
to  respect  from  servants,  that  he  had  no  idea  of  being 
treated  otherwise.  The  next  morning,  therefore,  he 
walked  up  to  the  Hall,  and,  knocking  at  the  door,  as 
soon  as  it  was  opened  he  told  the  well-powdered  domestics 
that  he  wished  to  speak  a  few  words  to  Miss  Atherton, 
if  she  still  lived  with  Mrs  Austin.  His  appearance  was 
considered  by  these  gentlemen  in  waiting  as  sufficient 
to  induce  them  to  show  him  into  a  parlour,  and  to  send 
for  Mary,  who  in  a  few  minutes  came  down  to  him,  and 
embraced  him  tenderly.  "I  should  hardly  have  known 
you,  my  dear  boy,"  said  she,  as  the  tears  glistened  in 
her  eyes ;  "  you  have  grown  quite  a  man.  I  cannot 
imagine,  as  you  now  stand  before  me,  that  you  could 
have  been  the  little  Joey  that  was  living  at  Mrs 
Chopper's." 

"We  are  indebted  to  that  good  woman  for  our  pros- 
perity," replied  Joey.  "  Do  you  know,  Mary,  that  your 
money  has  multiplied  so  fast  that  I  almost  wish  that  you 
would  take  it  away,  lest  by  some  accident  it  should  be 
lost  ?     I  have  brought  you  an  account." 

"  Let  me  have  an  account  of  yourself,  my  dear  brother," 
J.R.  S 


274  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

replied  Mary  •,  "  I  have  no  want  of  money  ;  I  am  here  well 
and  happy." 

"  So  you  must  have  been,  for  you  look  as  young  and 
handsome  as  when  I  last  saw  you,  Mary.  How  is  your 
mistress  ? " 

"She  is  well,  and  would,  I  think,  be  happy,  if  it  were 
not  for  the  strange  disease  of  Mr  Austin,  who  secludes 
himself  entirely,  and  will  not  even  go  outside  of  the  park 
gates.  He  has  become  more  overbearing  and  haughty 
than  ever,  and  several  of  the  servants  have  quitted  within 
the  last  few  months." 

"I  have  no  wish  to  meet  him,  dear  Mary,  after  what 
passed  when  I  was  here  before ;  I  will  not  put  up  with 
insolence  from  any  man,  even  in  his  own  house,"  replied 
our  hero. 

"  Do  not  speak  so  loud,  his  study  is  next  to  us,  and 
that  door  leads  to  it,"  replied  Mary ;  "  he  would  not 
say  anything  to  you,  but  he  would  find  fault  with 
me. 

"  Then  you  had  better  come  to  see  me  at  the  Austin 
Arms,  where  I  am  stopping." 

"I  will  come  this  evening,"  replied  Mary. 

At  this  moment  the  door  which  led  to  the  study  was 
opened,  and  a  voice  was  heard — 

"  Mary,  I  wish  you  would  take  your  sweethearts  to  a 
more  convenient  distance." 

Joey  heard  the  harsh,  hollow  voice,  but  recognised  it 
not ;  he  would  not  turn  round  to  look  at  Mr  Austin,  but 
remained  with  his  back  to  him,  and  the  door  closed  again 
with  a  bang. 

"Well,"  observed  Joey,  "that  is  a  pretty  fair  specimen 
of  what  he  is,  at  all  events.  Why  did  you  not  say  I  was 
your  brother  ? " 

"  Because  it  was  better  to  say  nothing,"  replied  Mary, 
"  he  will  not  come  in  again." 

"Well,  I  shall  leave  you  now,"  said  Joey,  "and  wait 
till  the  evening  ;  you  will  be  certain  to  come  !  " 

"  O  yes,  I  certainly  shall,"  replied  Mary.     "  Hush !  I 


•■    --" 


The  Poacher  275 

hear  my  mistress  with  Mr  Austin.  I  wish  you  could  see 
her,  you  would  like  her  very  much." 

The  outer  door  of  the  study  was  closed  to,  and  then 
the  door  of  the  room  in  which  they  were  conversing  was 
opened,  but  it  was  shut  again  immediately. 

"  Who  was  that  ? "  said  our  hero,  who  had  not  turned 
round  to  ascertain. 

"  Mrs  Austin ;  she  just  looked  in,  and  seeing  I  was 
engaged,  she  only  nodded  to  me  to  say  that  she  wanted 
me,  I  presume,  and  then  went  away  again,"  replied  Mary. 
"  You  had  better  go  now,  and  I  will  be  sure  to  come  in 
the  evening." 

Our  hero  quitted  the  Hall  j  he  had  evidently  been  in 
the  presence  of  his  father  and  mother  without  knowing 
it,  and  all  because  he  happened  on  both  occasions  to  have 
his  face  turned  in  a  wrong  direction,  and  he  left  the 
house  as  unconscious  as  he  went  in.  As  soon  as  our 
hero  had  left  the  Hall,  Mary  repaired  to  her  mistress. 

"Do  you  want  me,  madam?"  said  Mary,  as  she  went 
to  her  mistress. 

"No,  Mary,  not  particularly,  but  Mr  Austin  sent  for 
me ;  he  was  annoyed  at  your  having  a  strange  person  in 
the  house,  and  desired  me  to  send  him  away." 

"  It  was  my  brother,  madam,"  replied  Mary. 

"  Your  brother !  I  am  very  sorry,  Mary,  but  you 
know  how  nervous  Mr  Austin  is,  and  there  is  no  reasoning 
against  nerves.  I  should  have  liked  to  have  seen  your 
brother  very  much ;  if  I  recollect  rightly,  you  told  me 
he  was  doing  very  well  at  Portsmouth,  is  he  not  ? " 

"  Yes,  madam ;  he  is  now  a  partner  in  one  of  the  first 
houses  there." 

"Why,  Mary,  he  will  soon  have  you  to  keep  his  own 
house,  I  presume,  and  I  shall  lose  you ;  indeed,  you  are 
more  fit  for  such  a  situation  than  your  present  one,  so  I 
must  not  regret  it  if  you  do." 

"He  has  no  idea  of  taking  a  house,  madam,"  replied 
Mary,  "  nor  have  I  any  of  quitting  you  ;  your  place  is 
quite  good  enough  for  me.     I  promised  to  go  down  and 


2,76  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

meet  him  this  evening,  with  your  permission,  at  the 
Austin  Arms." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Mrs  Austin,  and  then  the  con- 
versation dropped. 

Our  hero  remained  at  the  inn  two  days,  a  portion  of 
which  Mary  passed  with  him,  and  then  he  set  off  for 
Dudstone ;  he  did  not  make  Mary  a  confidante  of  his 
attachment  to  Emma  Phillips,  although  he  imparted  to 
her  the  death  of  Furness,  and  the  relief  it  had  afforded 
him,  promising  to  return  to  see  her  before  he  went  back 
to  Portsmouth. 

Joey  once  more  set  off  on  his  travels,  and  without 
incident  arrived  at  the  good  old  town  of  Dudstone,  where 
he  put  up  at  the  Commercial  Hotel ;  his  only  object 
was  to  ascertain  the  condition  of  his  lodgings  ;  for  the 
first  two  years  he  had  sent  the  rent  of  the  room  to  the 
old  woman  to  whom  the  house  belonged,  but  latterly 
no  application  had  been  made  for  it,  although  his  address 
had  been  given ;  and,  occupied  by  other  business  more 
important,  our  hero  had  quite  forgotten  the  affair,  or  if 
he  did  occasionally  recall  it  to  his  memory,  it  was  soon 
dismissed  again.  His  key  he  had  brought  with  him,  and 
he  now  proceeded  to  the  house  and  knocked  at  the  door, 
surmising  that  the  old  woman  was  possibly  dead,  and  his 
property  probably  disposed  of;  the  first  part  of  the  surmise 
was  disproved  by  the  old  woman  coming  to  the  door ; 
she  did  not  recognise  our  hero,  and  it  was  not  until  he 
produced  the  key  of  his  room  that  she  was  convinced 
that  he  was  the  lawful  owner  of  its  contents.  She  told 
him  she  could  not  write  herself,  and  that  the  party  who 
had  written  to  Portsmouth  for  her  was  dead,  and  that 
she  felt  sure  he  would  come  back  at  some  time  and  settle 
with  her ;  and,  moreover,  she  was  afraid  that  the  furniture 
would  be  much  injured  by  having  been  shut  up  so  long, 
which  was  not  only  very  likely,  but  proved  to  be  the  case 
when  the  door  was  opened ;  she  also  said  that  she  could 
have  made  money  for  him,  had  he  allowed  her  to  let  the 
lodgings  furnished,  as   she  had  had   several  applications. 


The  Poacher  277 

Our  hero  walked  into  his  apartment,  which  certainly  had 
a  very  mothy  and  mouldy  appearance.  As  soon  as  a  fire 
had  been  lighted,  he  collected  all  that  he  wanted  to  retain 
for  himself,  the  books,  plate,  and  some  other  articles, 
which  he  valued  for  Spikeman's  sake,  and  as  old  re- 
miniscences, and  putting  them  up  in  a  chest,  requested 
that  it  might  be  sent  to  the  inn ;  and  then,  upon  reflection, 
he  thought  he  could  do  no  better  with  the  remainder 
than  to  make  them  a  present  to  the  old  woman,  which  he 
did,  after  paying  up  her  arrears  of  rent,  and  by  so  doing 
made  one  person,  for  the  time,  superlatively  happy,  which 
is  something  worth  doing  in  this  chequered  world  of  ours. 
Joey,  as  soon  as  he  had  returned  to  the  inn,  sat  down  to 
write  to  Spikeman,  and  also  to  Mr  Small  at  Portsmouth, 
and  having  posted  his  letters,  as  he  did  not  quit  Dudstone 
until  the  next  morning,  he  resolved  to  pay  a  visit  to  his 
former  acquaintances,  Miss  Amelia  and  Miss  Ophelia. 
His  knock  at  the  door  was  answered  by  Miss  Amelia  as 
usual,  but  with  only  one  arm  unoccupied,  a  baby  being 
in  the  other,  and  the  squalling  in  the  little  parlour  gave 
further  evidence  of  matrimony.  Our  hero  was  obliged 
to  introduce  himself,  as  he  was  stared  at  as  an  utter 
stranger ;  he  was  then  immediately  welcomed,  and  re- 
quested to  walk  into  the  parlour.  In  a  few  minutes  the 
whole  of  the  family  history  was  communicated.  The  old 
lady  had  been  dead  three  years,  and  at  her  death  the 
young  ladies  found  themselves  in  possession  of  one 
thousand  pounds  each.  This  thousand  pounds  proved 
to  them  that  husbands  were  to  be  had  even  at  Dudstone 
and  its  vicinity.  Miss  Amelia  had  been  married  more 
than  two  years,  to  a  master-builder,  who  had  plenty  of 
occupation,  not  so  much  in  building  new  houses  at 
Dudstone  as  in  repairing  the  old  ones,  and  they  were 
doing  well,  and  had  two  children.  Her  sister  had  married 
a  young  farmer,  and  she  could  see  her  money  every  day 
in  the  shape  of  bullocks  and  sheep  upon  the  farm ;  they 
also  were  doing  well.  Joey  remained  an  hour ;  Mrs 
Potts  was    very  anxious    that    he   should    remain  longer, 


278  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

and  give  her  his  opinion  of  her  husband ;  but  this  Joey 
declined,  and,  desiring  to  be  kindly  remembered  to  her 
sister,  took  his  leave,  and  the  next  morning  was  on  his 
way  to  London. 


Chapter  XLII 

Very  pleasant  correspondence. 

As  soon  as  Joey  arrived  at  the  metropolis,  he  went  to  the 
correspondent  of  the  house  at  Portsmouth  to  enquire  for 
letters.  He  found  one  of  the  greatest  interest  from  Mr 
Small,  who  after  some  preliminaries  relative  to  the  business, 
and  certain  commissions  for  him  to  transact  in  town,  pro- 
ceeded as  follows  : — 

"  Your  health  has  been  a  source  of  great  anxiety  to  us 
all,  not  only  in  the  counting-house,  but  in  the  drawing- 
room  ;  the  cause  of  your  illness  was  ascribed  to  over- 
exertion in  your  duties,  and  it  must  be  admitted,  that  until 
you  were  ill,  there  was  no  relaxation  on  your  part ;  but 
we  have  reason  to  suppose  that  there  have  been  other 
causes  which  may  have  occasioned  your  rapid  change  from 
activity  and  cheerfulness  to  such  a  total  prostration  of 
body  and  mind.  You  may  feel  grieved  when  I  tell  you 
that  Emma  has  been  very  unwell  since  you  left,  and  the 
cause  of  her  illness  is  beyond  the  skill  of  Mr  Taylor,  our 
medical  man.  She  has,  however,  confided  so  much  to  her 
mother  as  to  let  us  know  that  you  are  the  party  who  has 
been  the  chief  occasion  of  it.  She  has  acknowledged  that 
she  has  not  behaved  well  to  you,  and  has  not  done  you 
justice ;  and  I  really  believe  that  it  is  this  conviction  which 
is  the  chief  ground  of  her  altered  state  of  health.  I 
certainly  have  been  too  much  in  the  counting-house  to 
know  what  has  been  going  on  in  the  parlour,  but  I  think 
that  you  ought  to  know  us  better  than  to  suppose  that  we 


The  Poacher  279 

should  not  in  every  point  be  most  anxious  for  your  happi- 
ness, and  your  being  constantly  with  us.  That  Emma 
blames  herself,  is  certain  j  that  she  is  very  amiable,  is 
equally  so  ;  your  return  would  give  us  the  greatest  satis- 
faction. I  hardly  need  say  I  love  my  niece,  and  am 
anxious  for  her  happiness  j  I  love  you,  my  dear  friend,  and 
am  equally  anxious  for  yours  ;  and  I  do  trust,  that  any 
trifling  disagreement  between  you  (for  surely  you  must  be 
on  intimate  terms  to  quarrel,  and  for  her  to  feel  the 
quarrel  so  severely)  will  be  speedily  overcome.  From 
what  her  mother  says,  I  think  that  her  affections  are 
seriously  engaged  (I  treat  you  with  the  confidence  I  am 
sure  you  deserve),  and  I  am  sure  that  there  is  no  one  upon 
whom  I  would  so  willingly  bestow  my  niece ;  or,  as  I  find 
by  questioning,  no  one  to  whom  Mrs  Phillips  would  so 
willingly  entrust  her  daughter.  If,  then,  I  am  right  in 
my  supposition,  you  will  be  received  with  open  arms  by 
all,  not  even  excepting  Emma — she  has  no  coquetry  in  her 
composition.  Like  all  the  rest  of  us,  she  has  her  faults ; 
but  if  she  has  her  faults,  she  is  not  too  proud  to  acknow- 
ledge them,  and  that  you  will  allow  when  you  read  the 
enclosed,  which  she  has  requested  me  to  send  to  you,  and 
at  the  same  time  desired  me  to  read  it  first.  I  trust  this 
communication  will  accelerate  your  recovery,  and  that  we 
shall  soon  see  you  again.  At  all  events,  answer  my  letter, 
and  if  I  am  in  error,  let  me  know,  that  I  may  undeceive 
others." 


The  enclosure  from   Emma  was  then    opened   by   our 
hero  :  it  was  in  few  words  : — 


"My  dear  friend, — On  reflection,  I  consider  that  I  have 
treated  you  unjustly;  I  intended  to  tell  you  so,  if  I  had 
had  an  opportunity  before  you  quitted  us  so  hastily.  My 
fault  has  preyed  upon  my  mind  ever  since,  and  I  cannot 
lose  this  first  opportunity  of  requesting  your  forgiveness, 
and  hoping  that  when  we  meet  we  shall  be  on  the  same 


280  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

friendly  terms   that  we  always  had  been  previous  to  my 
unfortunate  ebullition  of  temper. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  Emma." 

That  this  letter  was  a  source  of  unqualified  delight  to 
our  hero,  may  be  easily  imagined.  He  was  at  once  told 
by  the  uncle,  and  certainly  Emma  did  not  leave  him  to 
suppose  to  the  contrary,  that  he  might  aspire  and  obtain 
her  hand.  Our  hero  could  not  reply  to  it  by  return  of 
post.  If  distress  had  occasioned  his  illness,  joy  now 
prostrated  him  still  more  ;  and  he  was  compelled  to  return 
to  his  bed  ;  but  he  was  happy,  almost  too  happy,  and  he 
slept  at  last,  and  he  dreamt  such  visions  as  only  can  be 
conjured  up  by  those  who  have  in  anticipation  every  wish 
of  their  heart  gratified.  The  next  day  he  replied  to  Mr 
Small's,  acknowledging,  with  frankness,  his  feelings  to- 
wards his  niece,  which  a  sense  of  his  own  humble  origin 
and  unworthiness  had  prevented  him  from  venturing  to 
disclose,  and  requesting  him  to  use  his  influence  in  his 
favour,  as  he  dared  not  speak  himself,  until  he  had  received 
such  assurance  of  his  unmerited  good  fortune  as  might 
encourage  him  so  to  do.  To  Emma  his  reply  was  in  few 
words ;  he  thanked  her  for  her  continued  good  opinion  of 
him,  the  idea  of  having  lost  which  had  made  him  very 
miserable,  assuring  her  that  he  was  ashamed  of  the 
petulance  which  he  had  shown,  and  that  it  was  for  him  to 
have  asked  pardon,  and  not  one  who  had  behaved  so 
kindly,  and  protected  him  for  so  long  a  period ;  that  he 
felt  much  better  already,  and  hoped  to  be  able  to  shorten 
the  time  of  absence  which  had  been  demanded  by  him  and 
kindly  granted  by  his  patrons.  Having  concluded  and 
despatched  these  epistles,  our  hero  determined  that  he 
would  take  a  stroll  about  the  metropolis. 


The  Poacher  281 


Chapter  XLIII 

A  very  long    chapter,  with  a  very  long  story,  which  could   not  well  be 
cut  in  half. 

A  man  may  walk  a  long  while  in  the  city  of  London 
without  having  any  definite  object,  and  yet  be  amused,  for 
there  are  few  occupations  more  pleasant,  more  instructive, 
or  more  contemplative,  than  looking  into  the  shop- 
windows  ;  you  pay  a  shilling  to  see  an  exhibition,  whereas 
in  this  instance  you  have  the  advantage  of  seeing  many 
without  paying  a  farthing,  provided  that  you  look  after 
your  pocket-handkerchief.  Thus  was  our  hero  amused  : 
at  one  shop  he  discovered  that  very  gay  shawls  were  to  be 
purchased  for  one  pound,  Bandanas  at  gj-.  yd.,  and  soiled 
Irish  linen  remarkably  cheap  5  at  another  he  saw  a  row  of 
watches,  from  humble  silver  at  £2,  los.,  to  gold  and 
enamelled  at  twelve  or  fourteen  guineas,  all  warranted  to 
go  well ;  at  another  he  discovered  that  furs  were  at  half- 
price,  because  nobody  wore  them  in  the  summer.  He 
proceeded  farther,  and  came  to  where  there  was  a  quantity 
of  oil-paintings  exposed  for  sale,  pointing  out  to  the 
passer-by,  that  pictures  of  that  description  were  those 
which  he  ought  not  to  buy.  A  print-shop  gave  him  an 
idea  of  the  merits  of  composition  and  design  shown  by  the 
various  masters  ;  and  as  he  could  not  transport  himself  to 
the  Vatican,  it  was  quite  as  well  to  see  what  the  Vatican 
contained  ;  his  thoughts  were  on  Rome  and  her  former 
glories.  A  tobacconist's  transported  him  to  the  State  of 
Virginia,  where  many  had  been  transported  in  former  days. 
A  grocer's  wafted  him  still  farther  to  the  West  Indies  and 
the  negroes,  and  from  these,  as  if  by  magic,  to  the  Spice 
Islands  and  their  aromatic  groves.  But  an  old  curiosity- 
shop,  with  bronzes,  china,  marqueterie,  point-lace,  and 
armour,  embraced  at  once  a  few  centuries  ;  and  he  thought 
of  the  feudal  times,  the  fifteenth  century,  the  belle  of 
former  days,  the  amber-headed  cane  and  snuff-box  of  the 


282  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

beaux  who  sought  her  smiles — all  gone,  all  dust ;  the 
workmanship  of  the  times,  even  portions  of  their  dresses, 
still  existing — everything  less  perishable  than  man. 

Our  hero  proceeded  on,  his  thoughts  wandering  as  he 
wandered  himself,  when  his  attention  was  attracted  by  one 
of  those  placards,  the  breed  of  which  appears  to  have  been 
very  much  improved  of  late,  as  they  get  larger  and  larger 
every  day  j  what  they  will  end  in  there  is  no  saying,  unless 
it  be  in  placards  without  end.  This  placard  intimated  that 
there  was  a  masquerade  at  Vauxhall  on  that  evening, 
besides  fireworks,  waterworks,  and  anything  but  good 
works.  Our  hero  had  heard  of  Vauxhall,  and  his  curiosity 
was  excited,  and  he  resolved  that  he  would  pass  away  the 
evening  in,  what  was  at  that  time,  a  rather  fashionable 
resort. 

It  was  half-past  six,  and  time  to  go,  so  he  directed  his 
steps  over  Westminster-bridge,  and,  having  only  lost  three 
minutes  in  peeping  through  the  balustrades  at  the  barges 
and  wherries  proceeding  up  and  down  the  river,  after 
asking  his  way  three  times,  he  found  himself  at  the 
entrance,  and,  paying  his  admission,  walked  in.  There 
was  a  goodly  sprinkling  of  company,  but  not  many  masks  ; 
there  was  a  man  clad  in  brass  armour,  who  stood  quite 
motionless,  for  the  armour  was  so  heavy  that  he  could 
hardly  bear  the  weight  of  it.  He  must  have  suffered  very 
great  inconvenience  on  such  a  warm  night,  but  people 
stared  at  him  as  they  passed  by,  and  he  was  more  than 
repaid  by  the  attention  which  he  attracted  ;  so  he  stood 
and  suffered  on.  There  were  about  twenty-five  clowns  in 
their  motley  dresses,  seven  or  eight  pantaloons,  three 
devils,  and  perhaps  forty  or  fifty  dominoes.  Joey  soon 
found  himself  close  to  the  orchestra,  which  was  a  blaze  of 
light,  and  he  listened  very  attentively  to  a  lady  in  ostrich 
feathers,  who  was  pouring  out  a  bravura,  which  was  quite 
unintelligible  to  the  audience,  while  the  gentlemen  behind 
her,  in  their  cocked  hats,  accompanied  her  voice.  He  was 
leaning  against  one  of  the  trees,  and  receiving,  without 
knowing  it,  the  drippings  of  a  leaky  lamp  upon  his  coat, 


The  Poacher  283 

when  two  men  came  up  and  stopped  on  the  other  side  of 
the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  one  said  to  the  other — "  I 
tell  you,  Joseph,  she  is  here,  and  with  the  Christian. 
Manasseh  traced  her  by  the  driver  of  the  coach.  She  will 
never  return  to  her  father's  house  if  we  do  not  discover 
her  this  night  " 

"What!  will  she  become  a  Meshumed — an  apostate!" 
exclaimed  the  other ;  "  I  would  see  her  in  her  grave  first ! 
Holy  Father  !  the  daughter  of  a  rabbi  to  bring  such 
disgrace  upon  her  family !  Truly  our  sins,  and  the 
sins  of  our  forefathers,  have  brought  this  evil  upon  our 
house.  If  I  meet  him  here  I  will  stab  him  to  the 
heart  !  " 

"  Lemaan  Hashetn  I  for  the  sake  of  thy  holy  name,  my 
son,  think  of  what  you  say  ;  you  must  not  be  so  rash. 
Alas  !  alas  !  but  we  are  mixed  with  the  heathens.  She 
must  be  concealed  in  one  of  the  Moabitish  garments," 
continued  the  elder  of  the  two  personages,  whom  our  hero 
had  of  course  ascertained  to  be  of  the  house  of  Israel. 
"  Manasseh  tells  me  that  he  has  discovered,  from  another 
quarter,  that  the  Christian  had  procured  a  domino,  black, 
with  the  sleeves  slashed  with  white.  That  will  be  a 
distinguishing  mark  ;  and  if  we  see  that  dress  we  must 
then  follow,  and  if  a  female  is  with  it,  it  must  be  thy  sister 
Miriam." 

"  I  will  search  now,  and  meet  you  here  in  half  an  hour," 
replied  the  younger  of  the  two. 

"  Joseph,  my  son,  we  do  not  part ;  I  cannot  trust  you 
in  your  anger,  and  you  have  weapons  with  you,  I  know  ; 
we  must  go  together.  Rooch  Hakodesh  !  may  the  Holy 
Spirit  guide  us,  and  the  daughter  of  our  house  be  restored, 
for  she  is  now  my  heart's  bitterness,  and  my  soul's 
sorrow  !  " 

"Let  me  but  discover  the  Gatu — the  infidel  !"  replied 
the  son,  following  the  father  ;  and  our  hero  observed  him 
put  his  hand  into  his  breast  and  half  unsheath  a  poniard. 

Joey  easily  comprehended  how  the  matter  stood  ;  a 
Jewish   maiden  had  met  by  assignation  or  had  been  run 


284  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

away  with  by  some  young  man,  and  the  father  and  son 
were  in  pursuit  to  recover  the  daughter. 

"That  is  all  very  well,"  thought  our  hero ;  "but 
although  they  may  very  properly  wish  to  prevent  the 
marriage,  I  do  not  much  like  the  cold  steel  which  the 
young  Israelite  had  in  his  hand.  If  I  do  meet  with  the 
party,  at  all  events  I  will  give  him  warning  ; "  and  Joey, 
having  made  this  resolution,  turned  away  from  the 
orchestra  and  went  down  the  covered  way,  which  led  to 
what  are  usually  termed  the  dark  walks  ;  he  had  just 
arrived  at  the  commencement  of  them,  when  he  perceived 
coming  towards  him  two  dominoes,  the  shorter  hanging  on 
the  arm  of  the  taller  so  as  to  assure  him  that  they  were 
male  and  female.  "When  they  came  to  within  ten  yards  of 
the  lighted  walk,  they  turned  abruptly,  and  then  Joey  per- 
ceived that  the  taller  had  white  slashed  sleeves  to  his  domino. 

"There  they  are,"  thought  our  hero  \  "well,  it's  not 
safe  for  them  to  walk  here,  for  a  murder  might  be  com- 
mitted without  much  chance  of  the  party  being  found  out. 
I  will  give  them  a  hint  at  all  events  ;  "  and  Joey  followed 
the  couple  so  as  to  overtake  them  by  degrees.  As  he 
walked  softly,  and  they  were  in  earnest  conversation,  his 
approach  was  not  heeded  until  within  a  few  feet  of  them, 
when  the  taller  domino  turned  impatiently  round,  as  if  to 
inquire  what  the  intruder  meant. 

"  You  are  watched,  and  in  danger,  sir,  if  you  are  the 
party  I  think  you  are,"  said  Joey,  going  up  to  him,  and 
speaking  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Who  are  you,"  replied  the  domino,  "  that  gives  this 
notice  ? " 

"  A  perfect  stranger  to  you,  even  if  your  mask  was 
removed,  sir ;  but  I  happened  to  overhear  a  conversation 
relative  to  a  person  in  a  domino  such  as  you  wear.  I  may 
be  mistaken,  and,  if  so,  there  is  no  harm  done  ; "  and  our 
hero  turned  away. 

"  Stop  him,  dear  Henry,"  said  a  soft  female  voice.  "  I 
fear  that  there  is  danger  :  he  can  have  told  you  but  from 
kindness." 


The  Poacher  285 

The  person  in  the  domino  immediately  followed  Joey, 
and  accosted  him,  apologising  for  his  apparent  rudeness 
at  receiving  his  communication,  which  he  ascribed  to  the 
suddenness  with  which  it  was  given,  and  requested,  as  a 
favour,  that  our  hero  would  inform  him  why  he  had 
thought  it  necessary. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  certainly  ;  not  that  I  interfere  with 
other  people's  concerns ;  but  when  I  saw  that  one  of  them 
had  a  poniard " 

"  A  poniard !  "  exclaimed  the  female,  who  had  now 
joined  them. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Joey  ;  "  and  appeared  determined  to 
Use  it.  In  one  word,  madam,  is  your  name  Miriam  ?  If 
so,  what  I  heard  concerns  you  ;  if  not,  it  does  not,  and 
I  need  say  no  more." 

"  Sir,  it  does  concern  her,"  replied  the  domino  j  "  and  I 
will  thank  you  to  proceed." 

Our  hero  then  stated  briefly  what  he  had  overheard, 
and  that  the  parties  were  then  in  pursuit  of  them. 

"  We  are  lost  !  "  exclaimed  the  young  woman.  "  We 
shall  never  escape  from  the  gardens  !  What  must  we  do  ? 
My  brother  in  his  wrath  is  as  a  lion's  whelp." 

"  I  care  little  for  myself,"  replied  the  domino.  "  I 
could  defend  myself;  but,  if  we  meet,  I  shall  lose  you. 
Your  father  would  tear  you  away  while  I  was  engaged 
with  your  brother." 

"  At  all  events,  sir,  I  should  recommend  your  not  re- 
maining in  these  dark  walks,"  replied  our  hero,  "  now  that 
you  are  aware  of  what  may  take  place." 

"  And  yet,  if  we  go  into  the  lighted  part  of  the  gardens, 
they  will  soon  discover  us,  now  that  they  have,  as  it 
appears,  gained  a  knowledge  of  my  dress." 

"  Then  put  it  off,"  said  Joey. 

"  But  they  know  my  person  even  better,"  rejoined  the 
domino.  "  Your  conduct,  sir,  has  been  so  kind,  that 
perhaps  you  would  be  inclined  to  assist  us  ? " 

Our  hero  was  in  love  himself,  and,  of  course,  felt 
sympathy   for   others  in   the   same   predicament;    so  he 


286  Joseph  Rushbrook;   or, 

replied  that,  if  he  could  be  of  service,  they  might  com- 
mand him. 

"  Then,  Miriam,  dear,  what  I  propose  is  this  j  will  you 
put  yourself  under  the  protection  of  this  stranger  ?  I  think 
you  risk  nothing,  for  he  has  proved  that  he  is  kind.  You 
may  then,  without  fear  of  detection,  pass  through  the 
gardens,  and  be  conducted  by  him  to  a  place  of  safety. 
I  will  remain  here  for  half-an-hour  ;  should  your  father 
and  brother  meet  me,  although  they  may  recognise  my 
dress,  yet,  not  having  you  with  me,  there  will  be  no 
grounds  for  any  attack  being  made,  and  I  will,  after  a 
time,  return  home." 

"  And  what  is  to  become  of  me  !  "  exclaimed  the  terrified 
girl. 

"  You  must  send  this  gentleman  to  my  address  to- 
morrow morning,  and  he  will  acquaint  me  where  you  are. 
I  am  giving  you  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  sir ;  but  at  the 
same  time  I  show  my  confidence ;  I  trust  it  will  not  in- 
terfere with  your  other  engagements." 

"  Your  confidence  is,  I  trust,  not  misplaced,  sir," 
replied  our  hero;  "and  I  am  just  now  an  idle  man.  I 
promise  you,  if  this  young  lady  will  venture  to  trust 
herself  with  a  perfect  stranger,  that  I  will  do  your  request. 
I  have  no  mask  on,  madam ;  do  you  think  you  can  trust 
me  ? " 

"  I  think  I  can,  sir ;  indeed,  I  must  do  so,  or  there  will 
be  shedding  of  blood  ;  but  Henry,  they  are  coming ;  I 
know  them,  see,  right  up  the  walk  !  " 

Joey  turned  round,  and  perceived  the  two  persons  whose 
conversation  he  had  overheard.  "It  is  them,  sir,"  said  he 
to  the  gentleman  in  the  domino ;  "  leave  us  and  walk  back 
farther  into  the  dark  part.  I  must  take  her  away  on  my 
arm,  and  pass  them  boldly.    •  Come,  sir,  quick  !  " 

Our  hero  immediately  took  the  young  Jewess  on  his  arm 
and  walked  towards  the  father  and  brother.  He  felt  her 
trembling  like  an  aspen  as  they  came  close  to  them,  and 
was  fearful  that  her  legs  would  fail  her.  As  they  passed, 
the  face  of  our  hero  was  severely  scrutinised  by  the  dark 


The  Poacher  287 

eyes  of  the  Israelites.  Joey  returned  their  stare,  and  pro- 
ceeded on  his  way  ;  and  after  they  had  separated  some 
paces  from  the  father  and  brother,  he  whispered  to  the 
maiden,  "  You  are  safe  now."  Joey  conducted  his  charge 
through  the  gardens,  and  when  he  arrived  at  the  entrance, 
he  called  a  coach  and  put  the  lady  in. 

"  Where  shall  he  drive  to  ?  "  inquired  our  hero. 

"  I  don't  know  ;  say  anywhere,  so  that  we  are  away 
from  this  !  " 

Joey  ordered  the  man  to  drive  to  the  hotel  where  he 
had  taken  up  his  abode,  for  he  knew  not  where  else  to 

go- 
On  his  arrival  he  left  the  young  lady  in  the  coach, 
while  he  went  in  to  prepare  the  landlady  for  her  appear- 
ance. He  stated  that  he  had  rescued  her  from  a  very 
perilous  situation,  and  that  he  would  feel  much  obliged  to 
his  hostess  if  she  would  take  charge  of  the  young  person 
until  she  could  be  restored  to  her  friends  on  the  ensuing 
morning.  People  like  to  be  consulted,  and  to  appear  of 
importance.  The  fat  old  lady,  who  had  bridled  up  at  the 
very  mention  of  the  introduction  of  a  lady  in  a  domino, 
as  soon  as  she  heard  that  the  party  was  to  be  placed  under 
her  protection,  relaxed  her  compressed  features,  and 
graciously  consented. 

Our  hero  having  consigned  over  his  charge,  whose  face 
he  had  not  yet  seen,  immediately  retired  to  his  own  apart- 
ment. The  next  morning,  about  nine  o'clock,  he  sent  to 
inquire  after  the  health  of  his  protegee,  and  was  answered 
by  a  request  that  he  would  pay  her  a  visit.  When  he 
entered  the  room  he  found  her  alone.  She  was  dressed 
somewhat  in  the  Oriental  style,  and  he  was  not  a  little 
surprised  at  her  extreme  beauty.  Her  stature  was  rather 
above  the  middle  size ;  she  was  exquisitely  formed ;  and 
her  ankles,  hands,  and  feet,  were  models  of  perfection. 
She  was  indeed  one  of  the  most  exquisite  specimens  of 
the  Jewish  nation,  and  that  is  quite  sufficient  for  her  por- 
trait. She  rose  as  he  entered,  and  coloured  deeply  as  she 
saluted  him.     Our   hero,  who   perceived   her   confusion, 


288  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

hastened  to  assure  her  that  he  was  ready  to  obey  any 
order  she  might  be  pleased  to  give  him,  and  trusted  that 
she  had  not  been  too  much  annoyed  with  her  very  un- 
pleasant position. 

"  I  am  more  obliged  to  you,  sir,  than  I  can  well  express," 
replied  she,  "  by  your  kind  consideration  in  putting  me  into 
the  charge  of  the  landlady  of  the  house ;  that  one  act  assured 
me  that  I  was  in  the  hands  of  a  gentleman  and  man  of  honour. 
All  I  have  to  request  of  you  now  is,  that  you  will  call  at 

No. — ,  in  Berkeley-square,  and  inform  Mr  S of  what 

you  have  kindly  done  for  me.  You  will  probably  hear  from 
him  the  cause  of  the  strange  position  in  which  you  found 
us  and  relieved  us  from." 

As  our  hero  had  nothing  to  reply,  he  wrote  down  the 
address  and  took  his  leave,  immediately  proceeding  to  the 
house  of  Mr  S ;  but  as  he  was  walking  up  Berkeley- 
street,  he  was  encountered  by  two  men,  whom  he 
immediately  recognised  as  the  father  and  brother  of  the 
young  Israelite ;  the  brother  fixed  his  keen  eye  upon  our 
hero,  and  appeared  to  recognise  him  ;  at  all  events,  as  our 
hero  passed  them,  they  turned  round  and  followed  him, 
and  he  heard  the  brother  say,  "  He  was  with  her,"  or 
something  to  that  purport.  Our  hero  did  not,  however, 
consider  that  it  was  advisable  to  wait  until  they  were  away 
before  he  knocked  at  the  door,  as  he  felt  convinced  that 
they  were  on  the  watch,  and  that  any  delay  would  not 
obtain    the    end.      He    knocked,    and    was    immediately 

admitted.     He  found  Mr  S pacing  the  room  up  and 

down  in  great  anxiety,  the  breakfast  remaining  on  the  table 
untouched.  He  warmly  greeted  the  arrival  of  our  hero. 
Joey,  as  soon  as  he  had  informed  him  of  what  he  had  done, 
and  in  whose  hands  he  had  placed  the  young  lady,  stated 
the  circumstance  of  the  father  and  brother  being  outside  on 
the  watch,  and  that  he  thought  that  they  had  recognised 
him. 

"  That  is  nothing  more  than  what  I  expected,"  replied 

Mr  S •,  "  but  I  trust  easily  to  evade  them  ;  they  are 

not  aware  that  the  back  of  this  house  communicates  with 


The  Poacher  289 

the  stables  belonging  to  it  in  the  mews,  and  we  can  go  out 
by  that  way  without  their  perceiving  us.  I've  so  many 
thanks  to  offer  you,  sir,  for  your  kind  interference  in  our 
behalf,  that  I  hardly  know  how  to  express  them ;  to  one 
thing  you  are  most  certainly  entitled,  and  I  should  prove 
but  little  my  sincerity  if  I  did  not  immediately  give  it  you  ; 
that  is  my  confidence,  and  a  knowledge  of  the  parties 
whom  you  have  assisted,  and  the  circumstances  attending 
this  strange  affair.  The  young  lady,  sir,  is,  as  you  know, 
a  Jewess  by  birth,  and  the  daughter  of  the  rabbi,  a  man  of 
great  wealth  and  high  ancestry,  for  certainly  Jews  can  claim 
the  latter  higher  than  any  other  nation  upon  earth  j  I  am 
myself  a  man  of  fortune,  as  it  is  usually  termed,  at  all 
events  with  sufficient  to  indulge  any  woman  I  should  take 
as  my  wife  with  every  luxury  that  can  be  reasonably 
demanded.  I  mention  this  to  corroborate  my  assertion, 
that  it  was  not  her  father's  wealth  which  has  been  my 
inducement.  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  father  and 
daughter  when  I  was  travelling  on  the  continent ;  he  was 
on  his  way  to  England,  when  his  carriage  broke  down  in  a 
difficult  pass  on  the  mountains,  and  they  would  have  been 
left  on  the  road  for  the  night  if  I  had  not  fortunately  come 
up  in  time,  and,  being  alone,  was  able  to  convey  them  to 
the  next  town.  I  have  always  had  a  great  respect  for  the 
Jewish  nation.  I  consider  that  every  true  Christian  should 
have ;  but  I  will  not  enter  upon  that  point  now.  It  was 
probably  my  showing  such  a  feeling,  and  my  being  well 
versed  in  their  history,  which  was  the  occasion  of  an  inter- 
course of  two  days  ripening  into  a  regard  for  one  another ; 
and  we  parted  with  sincere  wishes  that  we  might  meet 
again  in  this  country.  At  the  time  I  speak  of,  which  was 
about  three  years  ago,  his  daughter  Miriam  was,  compara- 
tively speaking,  a  child,  and  certainly  not  at  that  period,  or 
indeed  for  some  time  after  our  meeting  again  in  England, 
did  it  ever  come  into  my  ideas  that  I  should  ever  feel  any- 
thing for  her  but  good-will ;  but  circumstances,  and  her 
father's  confidence  in  me,  threw  us  much  together.  She 
has  no  mother.  After  a  time,  I  found  myself  growing 
J.R.  T 


290  Joseph  Rushbrook;   or, 

attached  to  her,  and  I  taxed  myself,  and  reflected  on  the 
consequences.  I  was  aware  how  very  severe  the  Jewish 
laws  were  upon  the  subject  of  any  of  their  family  uniting 
themselves  to  a  Christian.  That  it  was  not  only  considered 
that  the  party  concerned  was  dishonoured  before  the  nation, 
but  that  the  whole  family  became  vile,  and  were  denied 
the  usual  burial  rites.  Perhaps  you  are  aware  that  if  a  Jew 
embraces  Christianity,  the  same  disgrace  is  heaped  upon 
the  relations.  With  this  knowledge,  I  determined  to  con- 
quer my  feelings  for  Miriam,  and  of  course  I  no  longer 
went  to  her  father's  house ;  it  would  have  been  cruel  to 
put  my  friend  (for  such  he  certainly  was)  in  such  a  position  ; 
the  more  so,  as,  being  a  rabbi,  he  would  have  to  denounce 
himself  and  his  own  children. 

"  My  absence  was,  however,  the  cause  of  great  annoy- 
ance to  the  father.  He  sought  me,  and  I  was  so  pressed 
by  him  to  return,  that  I  had  no  choice,  unless  I  confessed 
my  reasons,  which  I  did  not  like  to  do.  I  therefore 
visited  the  house  as  before,  although  not  so  frequently, 
and  continually  found  myself  in  company  with  Miriam, 
and,  her  father  being  constantly  summoned  away  to  the 
duties  of  his  office,  but  too  often  alone.  I  therefore 
resolved  that  I  would  once  more  set  off  on  my  travels,  as 
the  only  means  by  which  I  could  act  honourably,  and  get 
rid  of  the  feeling  which  was  obtaining  such  a  mastery  over 
me.  I  went  to  the  house  to  state  my  intention,  and  at  the 
same  time  bid  them  farewell ;  when,  ascending  the  stairs, 
I  slipped  and  sprained  my  ankle  so  severely,  that  I  could 
not  put  my  foot  to  the  ground.  This  decided  our  fate, 
and  I  was  not  only  domiciled  for  a  week  in  the  house,  but, 
as  I  lay  on  the  sofa,  was  continually  attended  by  Miriam. 
Her  father  would  not  hear  of  my  removal,  but  declared 
that  my  accident  was  a  judgment  against  me  for  my  rash 
intention. 

"  That  Miriam  showed  her  regard  for  me  in  every  way 
that  a  modest  maiden  could  do,  is  certain.  I  did,  however, 
make  one  last  struggle ;  I  did  not  deny  my  feelings  towards 
her,  but  I  pointed  out   to   her   the   consequences  which 


The  Poacher  291 

would  ensue,  -which  it  was  my  duty  as  a  friend,  and  her 
duty  as  a  daughter,  to  prevent.  She  heard  me  in  silence 
and  in  tears,  and  then  quitted  the  room. 

"  The  next  day  she  appeared  to  have  recovered  her 
composure,  and  entered  freely  into  general  conversation, 
and,  after  a  time,  referred  to  the  rites  of  their  Church. 
By  degrees  she  brought  up  the  subject  of  Christianity ; 
she  demanded  the  reasons  and  authority  for  our  belief; 
in  short,  she  induced  me  to  enter  warmly  into  the  subject, 
and  to  prove,  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  that  the  true 
Messiah  had  already  come.  This  conversation  she  took  a 
pleasure  in  renewing,  during  my  stay  in  the  house  ;  and  as 
I  considered  that  the  subject  was  one  that  diverted  our 
attention  from  the  one  I  wished  to  avoid,  I  was  not  sorry 
to  enter  upon  it,  although  I  had  not  the  least  idea  of 
converting  her  to  our  faith. 

"  Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  when  I  quitted  the  house, 
and  again  seriously  thought  of  removing  myself  from  so 
much  temptation,  when  her  brother  Joseph  arrived  from 
Madrid,  where  he  had  been  staying  with  an  uncle  for  some 
years,  and  his  return  was  the  occasion  of  a  jubilee,  at 
which  I  could  not  refuse  to  appear.  He  is  a  fine  young 
man,  very  intelligent  and  well-informed,  but  of  a  very 
irascible  disposition ;  and  his  long  residence  in  Spain  has 
probably  given  him  those  ideas  of  retaliation  which  are 
almost  unknown  in  this  country.  He  conceived  a  very 
strong  friendship  for  me,  and  I  certainly  was  equally 
pleased  with  him,  for  he  is  full  of  talent,  although  he  is 
revengeful,  proud  of.  his  lineage,  and  holding  to  the  tenets 
of  his  faith  with  all  the  obstinacy  of  a  Pharisee.  Indeed  it 
is  strange  that  he  could  ever  become  so  partial  to  a 
Christian,  respecting  as  he  does  the  rabbinical  doctrines 
held  forth  to  the  Jewish  people,  and  which  it  must  be 
admitted  have  been  inculcated,  in  consequence  of  the 
unwearied  and  unjustifiable  persecution  of  the  tribes  for 
centuries,  by  those  who  call  themselves  Christians,  but 
whose  practice  has  been  at  open  variance  with  the  precepts 
of  the  founder  of  their  faith.     However,  so  it  was.     Joseph 


292  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

conceived  a  great  regard  for  me,  was  continually  at  my 
house,  and  compelled  me  but  too  often  to  visit  at  his 
father's.  At  last  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  leave 
the  country  for  a  time,  and  was  actively  preparing,  intend- 
ing to  go  without  saying  a  word  to  them,  when  I  found 
myself  one  morning  alone  with  Miriam.  She  walked  up 
to  me  as  I  was  sitting  on  the  couch ;  I  motioned  to  her  to 
sit  by  me,  but  she  stood  before  me  with  a  stately  air,  fixing 
upon  me  her  dark  gazelle-like  eyes. 

"  'Do  you,'  said  she,  in  a  slow  and  solemn  tone  of  voice, 
'  do  you  remember  the  conversation  which  we  had  upon 
our  respective  creeds  ?  Do  you  recollect  how  you  pointed 
out  to  me  your  authorities  and  your  reasons  for  your  faith, 
and  your  sincere  belief  that  the  Messiah  had  already  come  ?' 

"  '  I  do,  Miriam,'  replied  I ;  '  but  not  with  any  view  to 
interfere  with  your  non-belief;  it  was  only  to  uphold  by 
argument  my  own.' 

"  '  I  do  not  say  nay  to  that ;  I  believe  you,'  said  Miriam; 
'  nevertheless,  I  have  that  in  my  vest  which,  if  it  was 
known  to  my  father  or  brother,  would  cause  them  to  dash 
me  to  the  earth,  and  to  curse  me  in  the  name  of  the  great 
Jehovah ; '  and  she  pulled  out  of  her  vest  a  small  copy  of 
the  New  Testament.  '  This  is  the  book  of  your  creed ;  I 
have  searched  and  compared  it  with  our  own  ;  I  have  found 
the  authorities ;  I  have  read  the  words  of  the  Jews  who 
have  narrated  the  history  and  the  deeds  of  Jesus  of 
Nazareth,  and — I  am  a  Christian? 

"  It  may  appear  strange,  but  I  assure  you,  sir,  you 
cannot  imagine  the  pain  I  felt  when  Miriam  thus  acknow- 
ledged herself  a  convert  to  our  faith  ;  to  say  to  her  that 
I  was  sorry  for  it  would  have  argued  little  for  my 
Christian  belief;  but  when  I  reflected  upon  the  pain  and 
disgrace  it  would  bring  upon  her  family,  and  that  I  should 
be  the  cause,  I  was  dreadfully  shocked.  I  could  only 
reply,  '  Miriam,  I  wish  that  we  had  never  met ! ' 

"  '  I  know  what  your  feelings  are  but  too  well,'  replied 
she ;  f  but  we  have  met,  and  what  is  done  cannot  be 
undone.     I,  too,  when  I  think  of  my  relations,  am  torn 


The  Poacher  293 

with  anxiety  and  distress  ;  but  what  is  now  my  duty  ? 
If  I  am,  and  I  declare,  not  only  by  the  great  Jehovah, 
but  by  the  crucified  Messiah,  that  I  am,  a  sincere  believer 
in  your  creed,  must  I  shrink — must  I  conceal  it  on  account 
of  my  father  and  my  brother  ?  Does  not  He  say,  "  Leave 
all  and  follow  Me  ?  "  Must  I  not  add  my  feeble  voice 
in  acknowledgment  of  the  truth,  if  I  am  to  consider  myself 
a  Christian  ?  Must  not  my  avowal  be  public  ?  Yes,  it 
must  be,  and  it  shall  be  !     Can  you  blame  me  ? ' 

"  '  Oh,  no  !  I  dare  not  blame  you  ; '  replied  I,  '  I  only 
regret  that  religious  differences  should  so  mar  the  little 
happiness  permitted  to  us  in  this  world,  and  that  neither 
Jew  nor  Christian  will  admit  what  our  Saviour  has  dis- 
tinctly declared — that  there  is  no  difference  between  the 
Jew  and  the  Greek  or  Gentile.  I  see  much  misery  in  this, 
and  I  cannot  help  regretting  deeply  that  I  shall  be  considered 
as  the  cause  of  it,  and  be  upbraided  with  ingratitude.' 

"  '  You  did  your  duty,'  replied  Miriam.  '  I  have  been 
converted  by  your  having  so  done.  Now  I  have  my  duty 
to  do.  I  am  aware  of  the  pain  it  will  occasion  my  father, 
my  relations,  and  the  whole  of  our  tribe ;  but  if  they 
suffer,  shall  I  not  suffer  more  ?  Thrust  out  from  my 
father's  door  ;  loaded  with  curses  and  execrations ;  not 
one  Jew  permitted  to  offer  me  an  asylum,  not  even  to 
give  me  a  morsel  of  bread,  or  a  drop  of  water  j  a 
wanderer  and  an  outcast !     Such  must  be  my  fate.' 

"  '  Not  so,  Miriam  ;  if  your  tribe  desert  you ' 

"  '  Stop  one  moment,'  interrupted  Miriam ;  t  do  you 
recollect  the  conversation  you  had  with  me  before  we 
entered  into  the  subject  of  our  relative  creeds  ?  Do  you 
remember  what  you  then  said  ;  and  was  it  true,  or  was 
it  merely  as  an  excuse  ? ' 

"  '  It  was  as  true,  Miriam,  as  I  stand  here.  I  have 
loved  you  long  and  devotedly.  I  have  tried  to  conquer 
the  passion,  on  account  of  the  misery  your  marriage  with 
a  Christian  would  have  occasioned  your  relations  ;  but  if 
you  persist  in  avowing  your  new  faith,  the  misery  will 
be  equally  incurred;  and,  therefore,  I  am  doubly  bound, 


294  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

not  only  by  my  love,  but  because  I  have,  by  converting 
you,  put  you  in  such  a  dreadful  position,  to  offer  you 
not  only  an  asylum,  but,  if  you  will  accept  them,  my 
heart  and  hand.' 

"  Miriam  folded  her  arms  across  her  breast,  and  knelt 
down,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor.  '  I  can  only 
answer  in  the  words  of  Ruth,'  replied  she,  in  a  low  voice 
and  trembling  lips.  I  hardly  need  observe,  that  after  this 
interview  the  affair  was  decided, — the  great  difficulty  was 
to  get  her  out  of  the  house  •,  for  you  must  have  been 
inside  of  one  of  the  houses  of  a  Jew  of  rank  to  be  aware 
of  their  arrangements.  It  was  impossible  that  Miriam  could 
be  absent  an  hour  without  being  missed  ;  and  to  go  out 
by  herself  without  being  seen  was  equally  difficult.  Her 
cousin  is  married  to  a  Jew,  who  keeps  the  masquerade 
paraphernalia  and  costumes  in  Tavistock-street,  and  she 
sometimes  accompanies  her  father  and  brother  there,  and, 
as  usual,  goes  up  to  her  cousin  in  the  women's  apartment, 
while  her  male  relations  remain  below.  We  therefore 
hit  upon  this  plan :  That  on  the  first  masquerade-night 
at  Vauxhall  she  should  persuade  her  father  and  brother 
to  go  with  her  to  her  cousin's  ;  that  I  should  be  close 
by  in  a  coach,  and,  after  she  had  gone  in,  I  was  to  drive 
up  as  the  other  customers  do,  and  obtain  two  dominoes, 
and  then  wait  while  she  escaped  from  the  women's  apart- 
ment, and  came  downstairs  to  the  street  door,  where  I 
was  to  put  her  in  the  coach,  and  drive  off  to  Vauxhall. 
You  may  inquire  why  we  went  to  Vauxhall.  Because, 
as  but  few  minutes  would  elapse  before  she  would  be 
missed,  it  would  have  been  almost  impossible  to  have 
removed  her  without  being  discovered,  for  I  was  well 
known  to  the  people.  You  recollect  that  Manasseh,  who 
was  in  the  shop,  informed  them  that  my  domino  was 
slashed  with  white  in  the  sleeves  ;  he  knew  me  when  I 
obtained  the  dominoes.  Had  I  not  been  aware  of  the 
violence  of  the  brother,  I  should  have  cared  little  had  he 
followed  me  to  my  house,  or  any  other  place  he  might 
have  traced  me  to  ;  but  his  temper  is  such  that  his  sister 


The  Poacher  295 

would  certainly  have  been  sacrificed  to  his  rage  and  fury, 
as  you  may  imagine  from  what  you  have  seen  and  heard. 
I  considered,  therefore,  that  if  we  once  became  mixed 
with  the  crowd  of  masks  and  dominoes  at  Vauxhall,  I 
should  elude  them,  and  all  trace  of  us  be  lost.  I  believe, 
now,  that  I  have  made  you  acquainted  with  every  cir- 
cumstance, and  trust  that  you  will  still  afford  me  your 
valuable  assistance." 

"  Most  certainly,"  replied  our  hero ;  "I  am  in  duty 
bound.  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  they  have  recognised 
me  as  the  party  conducting  her  out  of  the  dark  walk.  Did 
you  meet  them  afterwards  ? " 

1 '  No,"  rejoined  Mr  S ;  "I  allowed  them  to  walk 

about  without  coming  up  to  me,  for  some  time,  and  then 
when  they  were  down  at  the  farthest  end,  I  made  all  haste 
and  took  a  coach  home,  before  they  could  possibly  come  up 
with  me,  allowing  that  they  did  recognise  me,  which  I  do 
not  think  they  did  until  they  perceived  me  hastening  away 
at  a  distance." 

"  What,  then,  are  your  present  intentions  ?  "  inquired  our 
hero. 

"  I  wish  you  to  return  with  me  to  your  hotel,"  replied 

Mr   S ;    "  I   will    then  take  a  chaise,  and   leave  for 

Scotland  as  fast  as  four  horses  can  carry  us,  and  unite  my- 
self to  Miriam  ;  and,  as  soon  as  I  can,  I  shall  leave  the 
country,  which  will  be  the  best  step  to  allow  their  rage  and 
indignation  to  cool." 

"  I  think  your  plan  is  good,"  replied  Joey,  "  and  I  am  at 
your  service." 

In   a  few    minutes    Mr    S and    our   hero    went 

out  by  the  back  way  into  the  mews,  and,  as  soon 
as  they  came  to  a  stand,  took  a  coach  and  drove  to 
the  hotel. 

They  had  not,  however,  been  in  company  with  Miriam 
more  than  five  minutes,  when  the  waiter  entered  the  room 
in  great  alarm,  stating  that  two  gentlemen  were  forcing 
their  way  upstairs,  in  spite  of  the  landlord  and  others  who 
were  endeavouring  to  prevent  them.     The  fact  was,  that 


296  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

our  hero  and  Mr  S had  been  perceived  by  Joseph  and 

his  father,  as  they  came  out  of  the  mews,  and  they  had 
immediately  followed  them,  taking  a  coach  at  the  same  stand, 
and  desiring  the  coachman  to  follow  the  one  our  hero  and 
Mr  S had  gone  into. 

The  waiter  had  hardly  time  to  make  the  communication 
before  the   door  was  forced  open,  and   the   man   was   so 

terrified  that  he  retreated  behind  our  hero  and  Mr  S , 

into  whose  arms  Miriam  had  thrown  herself  for  protection 
The  father  and  brother  did  not,  however,  enter  without 
resistance  on  the  part  of  the  landlord  and  waiters,  who 
followed,  remonstrating  and  checking  them  ;  but  Joseph 
broke  from  them  with  his  dagger  drawn  ;  it  was  wrenched 
from  him  by  our  hero,  who  dashed  forward.  The  enraged 
Israelite  then  caught  up  a  heavy  bronze  clock  which  was 
on  the  sideboard,  and  crying  out,  "  This  for  the  Gaw  and 
the  Meshumed  !  "  (the  infidel  and  the  apostate),  he  hurled 
it  at  them  with  all  his  strength  j  it  missed  the  parties  it 
was  intended  for,  but  striking  the  waiter  who  had  retreated 
behind  them,  fractured  his  skull,  and  he  fell  senseless  upon 
the  floor. 

Upon  this  outrage  the  landlord  and  his  assistants  rushed 
upon  Joseph  and  his  father  ;  the  police  were  sent  for,  and 
after  a  desperate  resistance  the  Israelites  were  taken  away 

to   the    police-office,  leaving    Mr   S and    Miriam  at 

liberty.  Our  hero  was,  however,  requested  by  the  police 
to  attend  at  the  examination,  and,  of  course,  could  not 
refuse.  The  whole  party  had  been  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
waiting  until  another  case  was  disposed  of,  before  the 
magistrate  could  attend  to  them,  when  the  surgeon  came 
in  and  acquainted  them  that  the  unfortunate  waiter  had 
expired.  The  depositions  were  taken  down,  and  both 
father  and  son  were  committed,  and  Joey  and  some  others 
bound  over  to  appear  as  witnesses.  In  about  two  hours 
our   hero    was    enabled    to   return    to    the   hotel,   where 

he  found  that  Mr  S had  left  a  note  for  him,  stating  that 

he  considered  it  advisable  to  start  immediately,  lest  they 
should  require  his  attendance  at  the  police-court,  and  he 


-     --      -       ■  ■    " 


The  Poacher  297 

should  be  delayed,  which  would  give  time  to  the  relations 
of  Miriam  to  take  up  the  question  ;  he  had,  therefore,  set 
off,  and  would  write  to  him  as  soon  as  he  possibly 
could. 

This  affair  made  some  noise,  and  appeared  in  all  the  news- 
papers, and  our  hero  therefore  sat  down  and  wrote  a 
detailed  account  of  the  whole  transaction  (as  communicated 

to  him  by  Mr  S ),  which  he  despatched  to  Portsmouth. 

He  made  inquiries,  and  found  that  the  sessions  would  come 
on  in  a  fortnight,  and  that  the  grand  jury  would  sit  in  a 
few  days.  He  therefore  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
not  think  of  returning  to  Portsmouth  until  the  trial  was 
over,  and  in  his  next  letter  he  made  known  his  intentions, 
and  then  set  off  for  Richmond,  where  he  had  been  advised 
to  remain  for  a  short  time,  as  being  more  favourable  to  an 
invalid  than  the  confined  atmosphere  of  London. 

Our  hero  found  amusement  in  rowing  about  in  a  wherry, 
up  and  down  the  river,  and  replying  to  the  letters  received 
from   Mary,  and   from  Portsmouth.     He  also  received  a 

letter  from  Mr  S ,  informing  him  of  his  marriage,  and 

requesting  that  as  soon  as  the  trial  was  over  he  would 
write  to  him.  Our  hero's  health  also  was  nearly  re- 
established, when  he  was  informed  that  his  attendance  was 
required  at  the  court  to  give  his  evidence  in  the  case  of 
manslaughter  found  by  the  grand  jury  against  Joseph,  the 
brother  of  Miriam. 

He  arrived  in  town  and  attended  the  court  on  the 
following  day,  when  the  trial  was  to  take  place.  A  short 
time  after  the  cause  came  on  he  was  placed  in  the  witness- 
box.  At  the  time  that  he  gave  his  depositions  before  the 
magistrate  he  had  not  thought  about  his  name  having 
been  changed ;  but  now  that  he  was  sworn,  and  had 
declared  he  would  tell  the  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth, 
when  the  counsel  asked  him  if  his  name  was  not  Joseph 
O'Donahue,  our  hero  replied  that  it  was  Joseph  Rushbrook. 

"  Your  deposition  says  Joseph  O'Donahue.  How  is 
this  ?  Have  you  an  alias,  like  many  others,  sir  ? "  inquired 
the  counsel. 


298  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

"  My  real  name  is  Rushbrook,  but  I  have  been  called 
O'Donahue  for  some  time,"  replied  our  hero. 

This  reply  was  the  occasion  of  the  opposite  counsel 
making  some  very  severe  remarks ;  but  the  evidence  of 
our  hero  was  taken,  and  was  indeed  considered  very 
favourable  to  the  prisoner,  as  Joey  stated  that  he  was 
convinced  the  blow  was  never  intended  for  the  un- 
fortunate waiter,  but  for  Mr  S . 

After  about  an  hour's  examination  our  hero  was 
dismissed,  and,  in  case  that  he  might  be  recalled,  returned 
as  directed  to  the  room  where  the  witnesses  were 
assembled. 


Chapter    XLIV 

In  which  the  tide  of  fortune  turns  against  our  hero. 

As  soon  as  Joey  had  been  dismissed  from  the  witness-box 
he  returned  to  the  room  in  which  the  other  witnesses  were 
assembled,  with  melancholy  forebodings  that  his  real  name 
having  been  given  in  open  court  would  lead  to  some 
disaster.  He  had  not  been  there  long  before  a  peace- 
officer  came  in,  and  said  to  him — "  Step  this  way,  if  you 
please,  sir ;  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

Joey  went  with  him  outside  the  door,  when  the  peace- 
officer,  looking  at  him  full  in  the  face,  said,  "  Your  name 
is  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  you  said  so  in  the  witness-box  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Joey,  "  that  is  my  true  name." 

"  Why  did  you  change  it  ? "  demanded  the  officer. 

"  I  had  reasons,"  replied  our  hero. 

"  Yes,  and  I'll  tell  you  the  reasons,"  rejoined  the  other  ; 
"  you  were  concerned  in  a  murder  some  years  ago ; 
a  reward  was  offered  for  your  apprehension,  and  you 
absconded  from  justice.  I  see  that  you  are  the  person  ; 
your  face  tells  me  so.  You  are  my  prisoner.  Now,  come 
away  quietly,  sir  ;  it  is  of  no  use  for  you  to  resist,  and 
you  will  only  be  worse  treated." 


The  Poacher  299 

Joey's  heart  had  almost  ceased  to  beat  when  the 
constable  addressed  him ;  he  felt  that  denial  was  useless, 
and  that  the  time  was  now  come  when  either  he  or  his 
father  must  suffer :  he,  therefore,  made  no  reply,  but 
quietly  followed  the  peace-officer,  who,  holding  him  by 
the  arm,  called  a  coach,  into  which  he  ordered  Joey  to 
enter,  and,  following  him,  directed  the  coachman  to  drive 
to  the  police-office. 

As  soon  as  the  magistrate  had  been  acquainted  by  the 
officer  who  the  party  was  whom  he  had  taken  into  custody, 
he  first  pointed  out  to  our  hero  that  he  had  better  not  say 
anything  which  might  criminate  himself,  and  then  asked 
him  if  his  name  was  Joseph  Rushbrook. 

Joey  replied  that  it  was. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  that  might  prevent  my  com- 
mitting you  on  the  charge  of  murder  ? "  demanded  the 
magistrate. 

"  Nothing,  except  that  I  am  not  guilty,"  replied  Joey. 

"I  have  had  the  warrant  out  against  him  these  seven 
years,  or  thereabouts,  but  he  escaped  me,"  observed  the 
peace-officer  ;  "he  was  but  a  lad  then." 

"  He  must  have  been  a  child,  to  judge  by  his  present 
appearance,"  observed  the  magistrate,  who  was  making 
out  the  committal.     "  I  now  perfectly  recollect  the  affair." 

The  officer  received  the  committal,  and  in  half  an  hour 
our  hero  was  locked  up  with  felons  of  every  description. 
His  blood  ran  cold  when  he  found  himself  enclosed  within 
the  massive  walls  ;  and,  as  soon  as  the  gaoler  had  left  him 
alone,  he  shuddered  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 
Our  hero  had,  however,  the  greatest  of  all  consolations  to 
support  him — the  consciousness  of  his  innocence;  but 
when  he  called  to  mind  how  happy  and  prosperous  he  had 
lately  been,  when  he  thought  of  Emma,— and  that  now  all 
his  fair  prospects  and  fondest  anticipations  were  thrown  to 
the  ground,  it  is  not  surprising  that  for  a  short  time  he 
wept  in  his  solitude  and  silence.  To  whom  should  he 
make  known  his  situation  ?  Alas  !  it  would  too  soon  be 
known  ;  and  would  not  every  one,  even   Emma,  shrink 


300  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

from  a  supposed  murderer  ?  No !  there  was  one  who 
would  not — one  on  whose  truth  he  could  depend ;  Mary 
would  not  desert  him,  even  now  ;  he  would  write  to  her, 
and  acquaint  her  with  his  situation.  Our  hero  having 
made  up  his  mind  so  to  do,  obtained  paper  and  ink  from 
the  gaoler  when  he  came  into  his  cell,  which  he  did  in 
about  two  hours  after  he  had  been  locked  up.  Joey  wrote 
to  Mary,  stating  his  position  in  few  words,  and  that  the 
next  morning  he  was  to  be  taken  down  to  Exeter  to  await 
his  trial,  and  expressed  a  wish,  if  possible,  that  she  would 
come  there  to  see  him ;  and,  giving  a  guinea  to  the  turn- 
key, requested  him  to  forward  the  letter. 

"  It  shall  go  safe  enough,  young  master,"  replied  the 
man.  "  Now,  do  you  know,  yours  is  one  of  the  strangest 
cases  which  ever  came  to  my  knowledge  ? "  continued  the 
man ;  "  we've  been  talking  about  it  among  ourselves  ; 
why,  the  first  warrant  for  your  apprehension  was  out 
more  than  eight  years  ago ;  and,  to  look  at  you  now,  you 
cannot  be  more  than  seventeen  or  eighteen." 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  replied  Joey  ;  "  I  am  twenty-two." 

"  Then  don't  you  tell  anybody  else  that,  and  I  will  for- 
get it.  You  see  youth  goes  a  great  way  in  court ;  and 
they  will  see  that  you  must  have  been  quite  a  child  when 
the  deed  was  done — for  I  suppose  by  the  evidence  there  is 
no  doubt  of  that — and  it  won't  be  a  hanging  matter,  that 
you  may  be  certain  of ;  you'll  cross  the  water,  that's  all ; 
so  keep  up  your  spirits,  and  look  as  young  as  you  can." 

Mary  received  the  letter  on  the  following  day,  and  was 
in  the  deepest  distress  at  its  contents.  She  was  still 
weeping  over  it,  her  work  had  been  thrown  down  at  her 
feet,  when  Mrs  Austin  came  into  the  dressing-room  where 
she  was  sittting. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mary  ? "  said  Mrs  Austin. 

"I  have  received  a  letter  from  my  brother,  madam," 
replied  Mary ;  "  he  is  in  the  greatest  distress ;  and  I  must 
beg  you  to  let  me  go  to  him  immediately." 

"  Your  brother,  Mary  !  what  difficulty  is  he  in  ?  "  asked 
Mrs  Austin. 


The  Poacher  301 

Mary  did  not  reply,  but  wept  more. 

"  Mary,  if  your  brother  is  in  distress,  I  certainly  will 
not  refuse  your  going  to  him  ;  but  you  should  tell  me 
what  his  distress  is,  or  how  shall  I  be  able  to  advise  or 
help  you  ?     Is  it  very  serious  ?  " 

"  He  is  in  prison,  madam." 

"  In  prison  for  debt,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  No,  madam,  on  a  charge  of  murder,  which  he  is  not 
guilty  of." 

"  Murder  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs  Austin,  "  and  not  guilty  ! 
Why — when — and  where  did  this  murder  take  place  ? " 

"Many  years  ago,  madam,  when  he  was  quite  a  child." 

"  How  very  strange  !  "  thought  Mrs  Austin,  panting  for 
breath,  and  dropping  into  a  chair.  "  But  where, 
Mary  ? " 

"  Down  in  Devonshire,  madam,  at  Grassford." 

Mrs  Austin  fell  senseless  from  her  chair.  Mary,  very 
much  surprised,  hastened  to  her  assistance,  and,  after  a 
time,  succeeded  in  restoring  her,  and  leading  her  to  the 
sofa.  For  some  time  Mrs  Austin  remained  with  her  face 
buried  in  the  cushions,  while  Mary  stood  over  her.  At 
last  Mrs  Austin  looked  up,  and  laying  her  hand  upon 
Mary's  arm,  said,  in  a  solemn  tone — 

"  Mary,  do  not  deceive  me,  you  say  that  that  boy  is  your 
brother — tell  me,  is  not  that  false  ?  I  am  sure  that  it  is. 
Answer  me,  Mary." 

"  He  is  not  my  born  brother,  madam,  but  I  love  him  as 
one,"  replied  Mary. 

"  Again  answer  me  truly,  Mary,  if  you  have  any  regard 
for  me.     You  know  his  real  name,  what  is  it  ? " 

"Joseph  Rushbrook,  madam,"  replied  Mary,  weeping. 

"  I  was  certain  of  it !  "  replied  Mrs  Austin,  bursting 
into  tears,  "  I  knew  it !  the  blow  has  come  at  last !  God 
have  mercy  on  me  !  What  can  be  done  ?  "  And  again  Mrs 
Austin  abandoned  herself  to  bitter  grief. 

Mary  was  in  amazement ;  how  Mrs  Austin  should  know 
anything  of  Joey's  history,  and  why  she  should  be  in  such 
distress,  was  to  her  a  complete  mystery  j  she  remained  for 


3<D2  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  or, 

some  time  at  the  side  of  her  mistress,  who  gradually  became 
more  composed.     Mary  at  last  said — 

"  May  I  go  to  him,  madam  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs  Austin,  "  most  certainly.  Mary,  I 
must  have  no  secrets  now,  you  must  tell  me  everything. 
You  see  that  I  am  deeply  interested  about  this  young  man 
as  well  as  yourself  j  it  is  quite  sufficient  for  you  at  present 
to  know  that  j  before  I  say  anything  more,  you  must  be 
candid  with  me,  and  tell  me  how  you  became  acquainted 
with  him,  and  all  that  you  know  relative  to  his  life  ;  that  I 
will  assist  you  and  him  in  every  way  in  my  power  ;  that 
neither  money  nor  interest  shall  be  spared,  you  may  be 
assured,  and  I  think,  Mary,  that,  after  this  promise,  you 
will  not  conceal  anything  from  me." 

"Indeed  I  will  not,  madam,"  replied  Mary,  "for  I  love 
him  as  much  as  I  can  love."  Mary  then  commenced  by 
stating  that  she  was  living  at  Gravesend  when  she  first  met 
with  Joey.  There  was  a  little  hesitation  at  the  commence- 
ment of  her  narrative,  which  Mrs  Austin  pretended  not  to 
observe ;  she  then  continued,  winding  up  with  the  inform- 
ation which  she  had  obtained  from  Furness  the  marine, 
their  escape,  and  her  admission  into  Mrs  Austin's  family. 

"  And  it  was  Joseph  Rushbrook  that  came  with  you  to 
this  house  ? " 

"Yes,  madam,"  replied  Mary;  "but  one  of  the  men 
was  quite  rude  to  me,  and  Joey  took  it  up.  Mr  Austin, 
hearing  a  noise,  sent  down  to  inquire  the  cause ;  the 
servants  threw  all  the  blame  upon  Joey,  and  he  was 
ordered  out  of  the  house  immediately.  He  refused  even  to 
come  back  to  the  Hall,  after  the  treatment  he  had  received, 
for  a  long  while ;  but  it  was  he  who  was  in  the  parlour 
when  you  opened  the  door,  if  you  recollect,  a  few  weeks 
ago." 

Mrs  Austin  clasped  her  hands  and  then  pressed  them  to 
her  forehead ;  after  a  while  she  said — 

"  And  what  has  he  been  doing  since  he  came  here  ?  " 

Mary  then  informed  her  mistress  of  all  she  knew  of 
Joey's  subsequent  career. 


The  Poacher  303 

"  Well,  Mary,"  said  Mrs  Austin,  "  you  must  go  to  him 
directly.  You  will  want  money  ;  but,  Mary,  promise  me 
that  you  will  not  say  a  word  to  him  about  what  has  passed 
between  us — that  is,  for  the  present ;  by-and-bye  I  may 
trust  you  more." 

"  You  may  trust  me,  madam,"  replied  Mary,  looking 
her  mistress  in  the  face ;  "  but  it  is  too  late  for  me  to  go 
this  afternoon  ;  I  will,  if  you  please,  now  wait  till  to- 
morrow morning." 

"  Do  so,  Mary  ;  I  am  glad  that  you  do  not  go  to-night, 
for  I  wish  you  to  stay  with  me ;  I  have  many  questions  to 
ask  of  you.  At  present  I  wish  to  be  alone,  my  good  girl. 
Tell  Mr  Austin  that  I  am  very  unwell,  and  do  not  dine 
below." 

"  Shall  I  bring  your  dinner  up  here,  madam  ?  "  asked 
Mary. 

"  Yes,  you  may  bring  it,  Mary,"  replied  Mrs  Austin, 
with  a  faint  smile. 

Never  did  two  people  leave  one  another  both  so  much 
wishing  to  be  alone  as  Mary  and  Mrs  Austin.  The  former 
quitted  the  room,  and,  having  first  executed  her  commis- 
sion, returned  to  her  own  appartment,  that  she  might 
reflect  without  being  disturbed.  What  could  be  the 
reason  of  Mrs  Austin's  behaviour  ?  What  could  she  know 
of  Joey  Rushbrook  ?  and  why  so  interested  and  moved  ? 
She  had  heard  among  the  servants  that  Mr  and  Mrs  Austin 
were  formerly  in  a  humbler  sphere  of  life  ;  that  he  was  a 
half-pay  officer ;  but  there  was  still  no  clue  to  such  interest 
about  Joey  Rushbrook.  Mary  thought  and  thought  over 
and  over  again,  revolved  all  that  had  passed  in  her  mind, 
but  could  make  nothing  of  it ;  and  she  was  still  trying  to 
solve  the  mystery,  when  the  housemaid  came  into  the  room 
and  informed  her  that  Mrs  Austin's  bell  had  rung  twice. 
Mrs  Austin,  on  her  part,  was  still  more  bewildered ;  she 
could  not  regain  sufficient  calmness  to  enable  her  to  decide 
how  to  act.  Her  son  in  prison,  to  be  tried  for  his  life  for 
a  crime  he  had  not  committed  !  Would  he  divulge  the 
truth  and  sacrifice  the  father  ?     She  thought  not.     If  he 


304  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

did  not,  would  he  not  be  condemned  ?  and  if  he  were, 
could  she  remain  away  from  him  ?  or  ought  she  not  to 
divulge  what  the  boy  would  conceal  ?  And  if  he  did  con- 
fess the  truth,  would  they  find  out  that  Mr  Austin  and 
Joseph  Rushbrook  were  one  and  the  same  person  ?  Would 
there  be  any  chance  of  his  escape  ?  Would  he  not  sooner 
or  later  be  recognised  ?  How  dreadful  was  her  situation  ! 
Then,  again,  should  she  acquaint  her  husband  with  the 
position  of  his  son  ?  If  so,  would  he  come  forward  ?  Yes, 
most  certainly,  he  would  never  let  Joey  suffer  for  his  crime. 
Ought  she  to  tell  her  husband  ?  And  then,  Mary,  who  knew 
so  much  already,  who  had  witnessed  her  distress  and 
anguish,  who  was  so  fond  of  her  son,  could  she  trust  her  ? 
Could  she  do  without  trusting  her  ?  Such  were  the 
various  and  conflicting  ideas  which  passed  in  the  mind  of 
Mrs  Austin.  At  last  she  resolved  that  she  would  say 
nothing  to  her  husband  ;  that  she  would  send  Mary  to  her 
son  j  and  that  she  would  that  evening  have  more  conversa- 
tion with  the  girl,  and  decide,  after  she  had  talked  with 
her,  whether  she  would  make  her  a  confidant  or  not. 
Having  made  up  her  mind  so  far,  she  rang  the  bell  for 
Mary. 

"  Are  you  better,  madam  ? "  asked  Mary,  who  had 
entered  the  room  very  quietly. 

"  Yes,  I  thank  you,  Mary ;  take  your  work  and  sit 
down ;  I  wish  to  have  some  more  conversation  with  you 
about  this  young  person,  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  you  must 
have  seen  that  I  am  much  interested  about  him." 

"  Yes,  madam." 

"There  were  some  portions  of  your  story,  Mary,  which 
I  do  not  quite  understand.  You  have  now  lived  with  me 
for  five  years,  and  I  have  had  every  reason  to  be 
satisfied  with  your  behaviour.  You  have  conducted 
yourself  as  a  well-behaved,  modest,  and  attentive  young 
woman." 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  madam,  for  your  good 
opinion,"  replied  Mary. 

"  And  I  hope  you  will  admit  that  I  have  not  been  a  hard 


The  Poacher  305 

mistress  to  you,  Mary;  but,  on  the  contrary,  have  shown 
you  that  I  have  been  pleased  with  your  conduct." 

"Certainly,  madam,  you  have;  and  I  trust  I  am  grate- 
ful." 

"I  believe  so,"  replied  Mrs  Austin.  "Now,  Mary,  I 
wish  you  to  confide  in  me  altogether.  What  I  wish 
to  know  is — how  did  you  in  so  short  a  time  become 
acquainted  with  this  Furness,  so  as  to  obtain  this  secret 
from  him  ?  I  may  say,  whom  did  you  live  with,  and 
how  did  you  live  when  at  Gravesend  ?  for  you  have  not 
mentioned  that  to  me.  It  seems  so  odd  to  me  that  this 
man  should  have  told  to  a  person  whom  he  had  seen  but 
for  a  few  hours  a  secret  of  such  moment." 

Mary's  tears  fell  fast,  but  she  made  no  reply. 

"  Cannot  you  answer  me,  Mary  ? " 

"  I  can,  madam,"  said  she  at  last ;  "  but,  if  I  tell  the 
truth — and  I  cannot  tell  a  lie  now — you  will  despise  me, 
and  perhaps  order  me  to  leave  the  house  immediately ; 
and,  if  you  do,  what  will  become  of  me  ?  " 

"  Mary,  if  you  think  I  intend  to  take  advantage  of  a 
confession  extorted  from  you,  you  do  me  wrong  ;  I  ask 
the  question  because  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  know  the 
truth — because  I  cannot  confide  in  you  without  you  first 
confide  in  me ;  tell  me,  Mary,  and  do  not  be  afraid." 

"  Madam,  I  will ;  but  pray  do  not  forget  that  I  have 
been  under  your  roof  for  five  years,  and  that  I  have  been 
during  that  time  an  honest  and  modest  girl.  I  was  not  so 
once,  I  confess  it ; "  and  Mary's  cheeks  were  red  with 
shame,  and  she  hung  down  her  head. 

"  We  are  all  sinful  creatures,  Mary,"  replied  Mrs 
Austin ;  "  and  who  is  there  that  has  not  fallen  into 
error  ?  The  Scriptures  say,  '  Let  him  who  is  without 
sin  cast  the  first  stone  ; '  nay,  more,  Mary,  there  is  more 
joy  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth  than  over  ninety  and 
nine  who  need  no  repentance ;  shall  I  then  be  harsh  to 
you,  my  poor  girl  ?  No,  no.  By  trusting  me  you  have 
made  me  your  friend  j  you  must  be  mine,  Mary,  for  I 
want  a  friend  now." 

J.R.  v 


306  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

Poor  Mary  fell  on  her  knees  before  Mrs  Austin,  and 
wept  over  her  hand  as  she  kissed  it  repeatedly. 

Mrs  Austin  was  much  affected,  and  as  the  contrite  girl 
recovered  herself,  Mrs  Austin  leaned  on  her  elbow,  and 
putting  her  arm  round  Mary's  neck,  drew  her  head  towards 
her,  and  gently  kissed  her  on  the  brow. 

"  You  are  indeed  a  kind  friend,  madam,"  said  Mary, 
after  a  pause,  "  and  may  the  Almighty  reward  you  !  You 
are  unhappy  ;  I  know  not  why  ;  but  I  would  die  to  serve 
you.     I  only  wish  that  you  would  let  me  prove  it." 

"  First,  Mary,  tell  me  as  much  of  your  own  history  as 
you  choose  to  tell ;  I  wish  to  know  it." 

Mary  then  entered  into  the  details  of  her  marriage,  her 
husband's  conduct,  her  subsequent  career,  and  her  deter- 
mination to  lead  a  new  life,  which  she  had  so  sincerely 
proved  by  her  late  conduct. 

Mary  having  concluded  her  narrative,  Mrs  Austin 
addressed  her  thus  : — 

"  Mary,  if  you  imagine  that  you  have  fallen  in  my  good 
opinion,  after  what  you  have  confessed  to  me,  you  are 
much  mistaken;  you  have,  on  the  contrary,  been  raised. 
There  have  been  few,  very  few,  that  have  had  the  courage 
and  fortitude  that  you  have  shown,  or  who  could  have 
succeeded  as  you  have  done.  I  was  afraid  to  trust  you 
before,  but  now  I  am  not.  I  will  not  ask  you  not  to 
betray  me,  for  I  am  sure  you  will  not.  On  two  points 
only  my  lips  are  sealed ;  and  the  reason  why  they  are 
sealed  is,  that  the  secret  is  not  mine  alone,  and  I  have  not 
permission  to  divulge  it.  That  I  am  deeply  interested  in 
that  boy  is  certain ;  nay,  that  he  is  a  near  and  very  dear 
connection  is  also  the  case ;  but  what  his  exact  relationship 
is  towards  me  I  must  not  at  present  say.  You  have 
asserted  your  belief  of  his  innocence,  and  I  tell  you  that 
you  are  right ;  he  did  not  do  the  deed ;  I  know  who  did, 
but  I  dare  not  reveal  the  name." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  Joey  said  to  me,  madam," 
observed  Mary  ;  "  and,  moreover,  that  he  never  would 
reveal  it,  even  if  he  were  on  his  trial." 


The  Poacher  307 

"  I  do  not  think  that  he  ever  will,  Mary,"  rejoined  Mrs 
Austin,  bursting  into  tears  ;  "  poor  boy ;  it  is  horrible 
that  he  should  suffer  for  an  offence  that  he  has  not 
committed." 

"  Surely,  madam,  if  he  is  found  guilty,  they  will  not 
hang  him,  he  was  such  a  child." 

"  I  scarcely  know." 

"  It's  very  odd  that  his  father  and  mother  have 
disappeared  in  the  manner  they  did  ;  I  think  it  is  very 
suspicious,"  observed  Mary. 

"  You  must,  of  course,  have  your  own  ideas  from  what 
you  have  already  heard,"  replied  Mrs  Austin,  in  a  calm 
tone  ;  "  but,  as  I  have  already  said,  my  lips  on  that  subject 
are  sealed.  What  I  wish  you  to  do,  Mary,  is,  not  at  first 
to  let  him  know  that  I  am  interested  about  him,  or  even 
that  I  know  anything  about  him.  Make  all  the  inquiries 
you  can  as  to  what  is  likely  to  be  the  issue  of  the  affair ; 
and,  when  you  have  seen  him,  you  must  then  come  back 
and  tell  me  all  that  he  says,  and  all  that  has  taken 
place." 

"  I  will,  madam." 

"  You  had  better  go  away  early  to-morrow ;  one  of  the 
grooms  shall  drive  you  over  to  meet  the  coach  which  runs 
to  Exeter.  While  I  think  of  it,  take  my  purse,  and  do 
not  spare  it,  Mary,  for  money  must  not  be  thought  of 
now ;  I  am  very  unwell,  and  must  go  to  bed." 

"I  had  better  bring  up  the  tray,  madam;  a  mouthful 
and  a  glass  of  wine  will  be  of  service  to  you." 

"  Do  so,  dear  Mary ;  I  feel  very  faint." 

As  soon  as  Mrs  Austin  had  taken  some  refreshment, 
she  entered  again  into  conversation  with  Mary,  asking  her 
a  hundred  questions  about  her  son.  Mary,  who  had  now 
nothing  to  conceal,  answered  freely ;  and  when  Mary 
wished  her  good-night,  Mrs  Austin  was  more  than  ever 
convinced  that  her  boy's  rectitude  of  principle  would  have 
made  him  an  ornament  to  society.  Then  came  the  bitter 
feeling  that  he  was  about  to  sacrifice  himself;  that  he 
would  be  condemned  as  a  felon,  disgraced,  and  perhaps 


308  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

executed;  and,  as  she  turned  on  her  restless  pillow,  she 
exclaimed,  "  Thank  God  that  he  is  innocent ! — his  poor 
father  suffers  more." 


Chapter  XLV 

In  which  Mary  makes  a  discovery  of  what  has  been  long  known 
to  the  reader. 

It  was  hardly  ten  o'clock  on  the  second  morning  when 
Mary  arrived  at  Exeter,  and  proceeded  to  the  gaol.  Her 
eyes  were  directed  to  the  outside  of  the  massive  building, 
and  her  cheeks  blanched  when  she  viewed  the  chains  and 
fetters  over  the  entrance,  so  truly  designating  the  purport 
of  the  structure.  There  were  several  people  at  the  steps 
and  in  the  passage,  making  inquiries,  and  demanding  per- 
mission of  the  turnkey  to  visit  the  prisoners ;  and  Mary 
had  to  wait  some  minutes  before  she  could  make  her 
request.  Her  appearance  was  so  different  to  the  usual 
class  of  applicants,  that  the  turnkey  looked  at  her  with 
some  surprise. 

"Whom  do  you  wish  to  see?"  inquired  the  man,  for 
Mary's  voice  had  faltered. 

"Joseph  Rushbrook,  my  brother,"  repeated  Mary. 

At  this  moment  the  head  gaoler  came  to  the  wicket. 

"  She  wishes  to  see  her  brother,  young  Rushbrook," 
said  the  turnkey. 

"Yes,  certainly,"  replied  the  gaoler;  "walk  in,  and  sit 
down  in  the  parlour  for  a  little  while  till  I  can  send  a  man 
with  you." 

There  was  gentleness  and  kindness  of  manner  shown  by 
both  the  men  towards  Mary,  for  they  were  moved  with 
her  beauty  and  evident  distress.  Mary  took  a  seat  in  the 
gaoler's  room ;  the  gaoler's  wife  was  there,  and  she  was 
more  than  kind.  The  turnkey  came  to  show  her  to  the 
cell ;  and  when  Mary  rose  the  gaoler's  wife  said  to  her, 
"  After  you  have  seen  your  brother,  my  dear  child,  you 


The  Poacher  309 

had  better  come  back  again,  and  sit  down  here  a  little 
while,  and  then,  perhaps,  I  can  be  of  some  use  to  you,  in 
letting  you  know  what  can  be  done,  and  what  is  not 
allowed." 

Mary  could  not  speak,  but  she  looked  at  the  gaoler's 
wife,  her  eyes  brimming  over  with  tears ;  the  kind  woman 
understood  her.  "Go  now,"  said  she,  "and  mind  you 
come  back  to  me." 

The  turnkey,  without  speaking,  led  her  to  the  cell, 
fitted  the  key  to  the  ponderous  lock,  pushed  back  the 
door,  and  remained  outside.  Mary  entered,  and  in  a 
second  was  in  the  arms  of  our  hero,  kissing  him,  and 
bedewing  his  cheeks  with  her  tears. 

"I  was  sure  that  you  would  come,  Mary,"  said  Joey; 
"  now,  sit  down,  and  I  will  tell  you  how  this  has  happened, 
while  you  compose  yourself;  you  will  be  better  able  to 
talk  to  me  after  a  while." 

They  sat  down  on  the  stretchers  upon  which  the  bed 
had  been  laid  during  the  night,  their  hands  still  clasped, 
and  as  Joey  entered  into  a  narrative  of  all  that  had  passed, 
Mary's  sobs  gradually  diminished,  and  she  was  restored  to 
something  like  composure. 

"  And  what  do  you  intend  to  do  when  you  are  brought 
to  trial,  my  dear  boy  ?"  said  Mary  at  last. 

"I  shall  say  nothing,  except  'Not  Guilty,'  which  is  the 
truth,  Mary ;  I  shall  make  no  defence  whatever." 

"  But  why  will  you  not  confess  the  truth  ? "  replied 
Mary.  "I  have  often  thought  of  this,  and  have  long 
made  up  my  mind,  Joey,  that  no  one  could  act  as  you  do, 
if  a  parent's  life  were  not  concerned ;  you,  or  anybody 
else,  would  be  mad  to  sacrifice  himself  in  this  way,  unless 
it  were  to  save  a  father." 

Joey's  eyes  were  cast  down  on  the  stone  pavement ;  he 
made  no  reply. 

"  Why,  then,  if  I  am  right  in  my  supposition,"  continued 
Mary — "  I  do  not  ask  you  to  say  yes  or  no  on  that  point 
— why  should  you  not  tell  the  truth  ?  Furness  told  me 
that  your  father  and  mother  had  left  the  village,  and  that 


310  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

he  had  attempted  to  trace  them,  but  could  not;  and  he 
expressed  himself  sure  that  they  were  gone  to  America. 
Why,  then,  supposing  I  am  right,  should  you  sacrifice 
yourself  for  nothing  ? " 

"Supposing  you  are  right,  Mary,"  replied  Joey,  with 
his  eyes  still  cast  down,  "  what  proof  is  there  that  my 
parents  have  left  the  country  ?  It  was  only  the  supposition 
of  Furness,  and  it  is  my  conviction  that  they  have  not. 
Where  they  may  be,  I  know  not ;  but  I  feel  positive  that 
my  mother  would  not  leave  the  country  without  having 
first  found  out  where  I  was,  and  have  taken  me  with  her. 
No,  Mary,  my  father  and  mother,  if  alive,  are  still  in  this 
country." 

"  Recollect  again,  my  dear  boy,  that  your  father  may 
be  dead." 

"  And  if  so,  my  mother  would  have  by  this  time  found 
me  out ;  she  would  have  advertised  for  me — done  every- 
thing— I  feel  that  she  would  have — she  would  have 
returned  to  Grassford,  and " 

"And  what,  Joey?" 

"  I  must  not  say  what,  Mary,"  replied  our  hero  •,  "  I 
have  thought  a  great  deal  since  I  have  been  shut  up  here, 
and  I  have  taken  my  resolution,  which  is  not  to  be  changed ; 
so  let  us  say  no  more  upon  the  subject,  dear  Mary.  Tell 
me  all  about  yourself." 

Mary  remained  another  hour  with  Joey,  and  then  bade 
him  farewell  •,  she  was  anxious  to  return  to  Mrs  Austin, 
and  acquaint  her  with  the  result  of  her  interview ;  with 
a  heavy  heart  she  walked  away  from  the  cell,  and  went 
down  into  the  parlour  of  the  gaoler. 

"Would  you  like  to  take  anything?"  said  the  gaoler's 
wife,  after  Mary  had  sat  down. 

"  A  little  water,"  replied  Mary. 

"  And  how  is  your  brother  ? " 

"  He  is  innocent,"  replied  Mary :  "  he  is  indeed ;  but 
he  won't  tell  anything,  and  they  will  condemn  him." 

"Well,  well;  but  do  not  be  afraid;  he  must  have  been 
very  young  at  the  time,  innocent  or  guilty,  and  he  won't 


The  Poacher  3 1 1 

suffer,  that  I  know ;  but  he  will  be  sent  out  of  the 
country." 

"  Then  I  will  go  with  him,"  replied  Mary. 

"Perhaps  he  will  be  pardoned,  dear;  keep  your  spirits 
up,  and,  if  you  have  money,  get  a  good  lawyer." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  who  would  be  a  good  lawyer  to  apply 
to  ? " 

"  Yes ;  Mr  Trevor  j  he  is  a  very  clever  man,  and 
comes  the  Western  Circuit ;  if  any  one  can  save  him,  he 
can." 

"  I  will  take  his  name  down,  if  you  please,"  said 
Mary. 

"  The  gaoler's  wife  gave  Mary  a  piece  of  paper  and 
pen  and  ink ;  Mary  wrote  down  the  name  and  address 
of  Mr  Trevor,  and  then,  with  many  thanks,  took  her 
leave. 

On  her  return  to  the  Hall,  Mary  communicated  to  Mrs 
Austin  what  had  passed.  Mrs  Austin  perceived  that  Joey 
would  not  swerve  from  his  resolution,  and  that  all  that 
could  be  done  was  to  procure  the  best  legal  assistance. 

"  Mary,  my  poor  girl,"  said  Mrs  Austin,  "  here  is 
money  which  you  will  find  necessary  for  your  adopted 
brother's  assistance.  You  say  that  you  have  obtained  the 
name  of  the  best  legal  person  to  be  employed  in  his  behalf. 
To-morrow  you  must  go  to  London,  and  call  upon  that 
gentleman.  It  may  be  as  well  not  to  mention  my  name. 
As  his  sister,  you  of  course  seek  the  best  legal  advice. 
You  must  manage  all  this  as  if  from  yourself." 

"  I  will,  madam." 

"  And,  Mary,  if  you  think  it  advisable,  you  can  remain 
in  town  for  two  or  three  days ;  but  pray  write  to  me 
every  day." 

"  I  will,  madam." 

"  Let  me  know  your  address,  as  I  may  wish  to  say 
something  to  you  when  I  know  what  has  been  done." 

"  I  will,  madam." 

"  And  now  you  had  better  go  to  bed,  Mary,  for  you 
must  be  tired ;  indeed,  you  look  very  fatigued,  my  poor 


312  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

girl  ;  I  need  not  caution  you  not  to  say  anything  to  any 
of  the  servants  ;  good-night." 

Mary  threw  herself  on  the  bed  •,  she  was  indeed  worn 
out  with  anxiety  and  grief;  at  last  she  slept.  The  next 
morning  she  was  on  her  way  to  town,  having,  in  reply 
to  the  curiosity  of  the  servants,  stated  that  the  cause  of 
her  journey  was  the  dangerous  illness  of  her  brother. 

As  soon  as  she  arrived  in  London,  Mary  drove  to  the 
chambers  of  the  lawyer,  whose  direction  she  had  obtained 
from  the  Exeter  gaoler ;  he  was  at  home,  and  after  waiting 
a  short  time,  she  was  ushered  by  the  clerk  into  his  presence. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  young  lady  ?"  inquired  Mr 
Trevor,  with  some  surprise ;  "it  is  not  often  that  the 
den  of  a  lawyer  has  such  a  bright  vision  to  cheer  it.  Do 
me  the  favour  to  take  a  chair." 

"  I  am  not  a  young  lady,  sir,"  replied  Mary ;  "  I  have 
come  to  you  to  request  that  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to 
defend  my  brother,  who  is  about  to  be  tried." 

"  Your  brother  !  what  is  he  charged  with  ? " 

" Murder,"  replied  Mary;  "but  indeed,  sir,  he  is  not 
guilty,"  she  continued,  as  she  burst  into  tears. 

Mr  Trevor  was  not  only  a  clever  but  also  a  kind  and 
considerate  man.  He  remained  silent  for  some  minutes 
to  allow  Mary  time  to  recover  herself.  When  she  was 
more  composed,  he  said — 

"  What  is  your  brother's  name  ? " 

"Joseph  Rushbrook." 

"  Rushbrook !  Rushbrook  !  I  well  remember  that 
name,"  remarked  Mr  Trevor ;  "  strange,  the  Christian 
name  also  the  same !  it  is  singular,  certainly.  The  last 
time  I  was  concerned  for  a  person  of  that  name,  I  was  the 
means  of  his  coming  into  a  large  landed  property ;  now  I 
am  requested  to  defend  one  of  the  same  name,  accused 
of  murder." 

Mary  was  astonished  at  this  observation  of  Mr  Trevor's, 
but  made  no  reply. 

"  Have  you  the  indictment  ?  Where  did  the  murder 
take  place  ?  " 


The  Poacher  313 

"  In  Devonshire,  sir,  many  years  ago." 

'"  And  he  is  now  in  Exeter  gaol  ?  Come,  tell  me  all 
the  particulars." 

Mary  told  all  that  she  knew,  in  a  very  clear  and  concise 
manner. 

"Now,  my  good  girl,"  said  Mr  Trevor,  "I  must  see 
your  brother.  In  two  days  I  shall  be  down  at  Exeter. 
If  you  write  to  him,  or  see  him,  before  I  do,  you  must  tell 
him  he  must  trust  in  his  lawyer  and  have  no  reservation, 
or  I  shall  not  be  able  to  do  him  so  much  service.  Allow 
me  to  ask  you,  have  you  any  relations  in  Yorkshire  ? " 

"  No,  sir,  none." 

"  And  yet  the  name  and  Christian  name  are  exactly  the 
same.  It's  an  odd  coincidence  !  They,  however,  changed 
their  name,  when  they  came  into  the  property." 

"  Changed  the  name  of  Rushbrook,  sir !  "  said  Mary, 
who  now  thought  that  she  had  a  clue  to  Joey's  parents. 

"  Yes,  changed  it  to  Austin ;  they  live  now  in  Dorset- 
shire. I  mention  it  because,  if  interest  is  required  for 
your  brother,  and  he  could  prove  any  relationship,  it 
might  be  valuable.  But  bless  me  !  what  is  the  matter  ? 
Smithers,"  cried  Mr  Trevor,  as  he  ran  and  supported 
Mary,  "  some  water  !  quick  !  the  girl  has  fainted  !  " 

It  was  surprise  at  this  astounding  intelligence,  her 
regard  for  Mrs  Austin,  and  the  light  now  thrown  upon 
the  interest  she  had  shown  for  our  hero,  and  the  convic- 
tion of  what  must  be  her  suffering,  which  had  overcome 
the  poor  girl.     In  a  short  time  she  recovered. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  but  I  have  suffered  so  much  anxiety 
about  my  poor  brother,"  said  Mary,  faltering  and  almost 
gasping  for  breath. 

"  He  cannot  be  a  very  bad  boy,  since  you  are  so  fond 
of  him,"  said  Mr  Trevor. 

"No,  indeed;  I  wish  I  was  half  as  good,"  murmured 
Mary. 

"  I  will  do  all  I  possibly  can,  and  that  immediately  ; 
indeed  as  soon  as  I  have  the  documents,  and  have  perused 
them,  I  will  go  to  your  brother  a  day  sooner  than  I  in- 


3 1 4  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

tended.  Do  you  feel  yourself  well  enough  to  go  now  ? 
If  you  do,  my  clerk  shall  procure  you  a  coach.  Do  you 
stay  in  London  ?     If  so,  you  must  leave  your  address." 

Mary  replied  that  she  intended  to  set  off  to  Exeter  that 
evening  by  the  mail,  and  would  meet  him  there. 

Mr  Trevor  handed  her  out,  put  her  into  the  coach,  and 
she  ordered  the  man  to  drive  to  the  inn  where  she  was 
stopping.  Mary's  senses  were  quite  bewildered.  It  was 
late,  and  the  mail  was  to  start  in  an  hour  or  two.  She 
secured  her  place,  and  during  her  long  journey  she  hardly 
knew  how  time  passed  away.  On  her  arrival,  in  the 
morning,  she  hastened  to  the  prison.  She  was  received 
kindly  as  before  by  the  gaoler  and  his  wife,  and  then 
attended  the  turnkey  into  Joey's  cell.  As  soon  as  the 
door  was  closed  she  threw  herself  down  on  the  bedstead, 
and  wept  bitterly,  quite  heedless  of  our  hero's  remonstrance 
or  attempts  to  soothe  her. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  horrible — too  horrible  !  "  cried  the  almost 
fainting  girl.  "  "What  can — what  must  be  done  !  Either 
way,  misery — disgrace  !  Lord,  forgive  me !  But  my 
head  is  turned.  That  you  should  be  here  !  That  you 
should  be  in  this  strait !  "Why  was  it  not  me  ?  I — I 
have  deserved  all  and  more  !  prison,  death,  everything  is 
not  too  bad  for  me  j  but  you,  my  dear,  dear  boy  !  " 

"  Mary,  what  is  the  reason  of  this  ?  I  cannot  under- 
stand. Are  matters  worse  than  they  were  before  ? "  said 
Joey.  "  And  why  should  you  talk  in  such  a  way  about 
yourself  ?  If  you  ever  did  wrong,  you  were  driven  to  it 
by  the  conduct  of  others  ;  but  your  reformation  is  all  your 
own." 

"  Ah,  Joey  !  "  replied  Mary  ;  "  I  should  think  little  of 
my  repentance  if  I  held  myself  absolved  by  a  few  years' 
good  conduct.  No,  no  ;  a  whole  life  of  repentance  is  not 
sufficient  for  me ;  I  must  live  on,  ever  repenting,  and  must 
die  full  of  penitence,  and  imploring  for  pardon.  But  why 
do  I  talk  of  myself  ? " 

"  "What  has  made  you  thus,  Mary  ? " 

"  Joey,  I  cannot  keep  it  a  secret  from  you ;  it  is  use- 


The  Poacher  315 

less  to  attempt  it.  I  have  discovered  your  father  and 
mother  !  " 

M  Where  are  they  ?  and  do  they  know  anything  of  my 
position  ? " 

"  Yes,  your  mother  does,  but  not  your  father." 

"  Tell  me  all,  Mary,  and  tell  me  quickly." 

"  Your  father  and  mother  are  Mr  and  Mrs  Austin." 

Joey's  utterance  failed  him  from  astonishment ;  he  stared 
at  Mary,  but  he  could  not  utter  a  word.  Mary  again 
wept ;  and  Joey  for  some  minutes  remained  by  her  side  in 
silence. 

"  Come,  Mary,"  said  Joey  at  last,  "  you  can  now  tell 
me  everything." 

Joey  sat  down  by  her  side,  and  Mary  then  communicated 
what  had  passed  between  herself  and  Mrs  Austin ;  her 
acknowledgment  that  he  was  her  relation ;  the  interest  she 
took  in  him  ;  the  money  she  had  lavished  ;  her  sufferings, 
which  she  had  witnessed  ;  and  then  she  wound  up  with 
the  conversation  between  her  and  Mr  Trevor. 

"  You  see,  my  dear  boy,  there  is  no  doubt  of  the  fact. 
I  believe  I  did  promise  Mrs  Austin  to  say  nothing  to  you 
about  it ;  but  I  forgot  my  promise  till  just  this  minute. 
Now,  Joey,  what  is  to  be  done  ? " 

"  Tell  me  something  about  my  father,  Mary,"  said 
Joey ;  "  I  wish  to  know  how  he  is  estimated,  and  how 
he  behaves  in  his  new  position." 

Mary  told  him  all  she  knew,  which  was  not  a  great 
deal :  he  was  respected ;  but  he  was  a  strange  man, 
kept  himself  very  much  aloof  from  others,  and  preferred 
seclusion. 

"Mary,"  said  Joey,  "you  know  what  were  my  inten- 
tions before  ;  they  are  now  still  more  fixed.  I  will  take 
my  chance  ;  but  I  never  will  say  one  word.  You  already 
know  and  have  guessed  more  than  I  could  wish ;  I  will 
not  say  that  you  are  right,  for  it  is  not  my  secret." 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  replied  Mary,  "  and  I  feel  how 
much  my  arguments  must  be  weakened  by  the  disclosures 
I  have  made.     Before,  I  only  felt  for  you  ;  now  I  feel  for 


3 1 6  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

all.  Oh,  Joey  !  why  are  you,  so  innocent,  to  be  punished 
this  way,  and  I,  so  guilty,  to  be  spared  ? " 

"  It  is  the  will  of  God  that  I  should  be  in  this  strait, 
Mary ;  and  now  let  us  not  renew  the  subject." 

"  But,  Joey,  Mr  Trevor  is  coming  here  to-morrow  ;  and 
he  told  me  to  tell  you  that  you  must  have  no  reservation 
with  your  lawyer,  if  you  wish  him  to  be  of  service  to 
you." 

"  You  have  given  your  message,  Mary,  and  now  you 
must  leave  me  to  deal  with  him." 

"  My  heart  is  breaking,"  said  Mary,  solemnly.  "  I  wish 
I  were  in  my  grave,  if  that  wish  is  not  wicked." 

"  Mary,  recollect  one  thing  ; — recollect  it  supports  me, 
and  let  it  support  you  ; — I  am  innocent." 

"  You  are,  I'm  sure  ;  would  to  Heaven  that  I  could  say 
the  same  for  another  !  But  tell  me,  Joey,  what  shall  I  do 
when  I  meet  your  mother  ?  I  loved  her  before  ;  but  oh  ! 
how  much  I  love  her  now !  What  shall  I  do  ?  Shall  I 
tell  her  that  I  have  discovered  all  ?  I  do  not  know  how 
I  can  keep  it  from  her." 

"  Mary,  I  see  no  objection  to  your  telling  her,  but  tell 
her  also  that  I  will  not  see  her  till  after  my  trial ;  whatever 
my  fate  may  be,  I  should  like  to  see  her  after  that  is 
decided." 

"I  will  take  your  message  the  day  after  to-morrow," 
replied  Mary  ;  "  now  I  must  go  and  look  out  for  lodgings, 
and  then  write  to  your  mother.     Bless  you  !  " 

Mary  quitted  the  cell  •,  she  had  suffered  so  much  that 
she  could  hardly  gain  the  gaoler's  parlour,  where  she  sat 
down  to  recover  herself.  She  inquired  of  the  gaoler's 
wife  if  she  could  procure  apartments  near  to  the  prison, 
and  the  woman  requested  one  of  the  turnkeys  to  take  her 
to  a  lodging  which  would  be  suitable.  As  soon  as  Mary 
was  located,  she  wrote  a  letter  to  Mrs  Austin,  informing 
her  of  her  having  seen  the  lawyer,  and  that  his  services 
were  secured  ■  and  then,  worn  out  with  the  anxiety  and 
excitement  of  the  three  last  days,  she  retired  to  bed,  and 
in  her  sleep  forgot  her  sufferings. 


The  Poacher  317 

Chapter  XLVI 

In  which  our  hero  makes  up  his  mind  to  be  hanged. 

Our  hero  was  not  sorry  to  be  left  alone ;  for  the  first  time 
he  felt  the  absence  of  Mary  a  relief.  He  was  almost  as 
much  bewildered  as  poor  Mary,  with  the  strange  dis- 
covery ;  his  father  a  great  landed  proprietor,  one  of  the 
first  men  in  the  county,  universally  respected — in  the  first 
society !  his  mother,  as  he  knew  by  Mary's  letters  written 
long  ago,  courted  and  sought  after,  loved  and  admired  ! 
If  he  had  made  a  resolution — a  promise,  he  might  say — 
when  a  mere  child,  that  he  would  take  the  onus  of  the 
deed  upon  his  own  shoulders,  to  protect  his  father,  then  a 
poacher  and  in  humble  life,  how  much  more  was  it  his 
duty,  now  that  his  father  would  so  feel  any  degradation — 
now  that,  being  raised  so  high,  his  fall  would  be  so  bitter, 
his  disgrace  so  deeply  felt,  and  the  stigma  so  doubly 
severe !  "  No,  no,"  thought  Joey,  "  were  I  to  impeach 
my  father  now — to  accuse  him  of  a  deed  which  would 
bring  him  to  the  scaffold — I  should  not  only  be  considered 
his  murderer,  but  it  would  be  said  I  had  done  it  to  inherit 
his  possessions ;  I  should  be  considered  one  who  had 
sacrificed  his  father  to  obtain  his  property.  I  should  be 
scouted,  shunned,  and  deservedly  despised ;  the  disgrace 
of  my  father  having  been  hanged  would  be  a  trifle  com- 
pared with  the  reproach  of  a  son  having  condemned  a 
parent  to  the  gallows.  Now  I  am  doubly  bound  to  keep 
to  my  resolution,  and,  come  what  may,  the  secret  shall  die 
with  me ; "  and  Joey  slept  soundly  that  night. 

The  next  morning  Mr  Trevor  came  into  his  cell. 

"  I  have  seen  your  sister,  Rushbrook,"  said  he,  "  and, 
at  her  request,  have  come  to  assist  you,  if  it  is  in  my 
power.  She  has  been  here  since,  I  have  been  informed, 
and,  if  so,  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  has  told  you  that  you 
must  have  no  secrets  with  your  lawyer  j  your  legal  friend 


3 1 8  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  or, 

and  adviser  in  this  case  is  your  true  friend  ;  he  is  bound  in 
honour  to  secrecy,  and  were  you  to  declare  now  that  you 
were  guilty  of  this  murder,  the  very  confidence  would 
only  make  me  more  earnest  in  your  defence.  I  have  here 
all  the  evidence  at  the  coroner's  inquest,  and  the  verdict 
against  you  ;  tell  me  honestly  what  did  take  place,  and 
then  I  shall  know  better  how  to  convince  the  jury  that  it 
did  not." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir,  but  I  can  say  nothing  even  to 
you,  except  that,  on  my  honour,  I  am  not  guilty." 

"  But,  tell  me,  then,  how  did  it  happen  ? " 

"  I  have  nothing  more  to  say,  and,  with  my  thanks  to 
you,  sir,  I  will  say  nothing  more." 

"  This  is  very  strange :  the  evidence  is  strong  against 
you  ;  was  the  evidence  correct  ? " 

"  The  parties  were  correct  in  their  evidence,  as  it 
appeared  to  them." 

"  And  yet  you  are  not  guilty  !  " 

"lam  not;  I  shall  plead  not  guilty,  and  leave  my  fate 
to  the  jury." 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  Your  sister  is  a  sweet  young  woman, 
and  has  interested  me  greatly  j  but,  if  innocent,  you  are 
throwing  away  your  life." 

"  I  am  doing  my  duty,  sir  ;  whatever  you  may  think  of 
my  conduct,  the  secret  dies  with  me." 

"  And  for  whom  do  you  sacrifice  yourself  in  this  way, 
if,  as  you  say,  and  as  your  sister  declares,  you  are  not 
guilty  ? " 

Joey  made  no  reply,  but  sat  down  on  the  bedstead. 

"  If  the  deed  was  not  done  by  you,  by  whom  was  it 
done  ? "  urged  Mr  Trevor.  "  If  you  make  no  reply  to 
that,  I  must  throw  up  my  brief." 

"  You  said  just  now,"  returned  Joey,  "  that  if  I  declared 
myself  guilty  of  the  murder,  you  would  still  defend  me ; 
now,  because  I  say  I  am  not,  and  will  not  say  who  is, 
you  must  throw  up  your  brief.  Surely  you  are  in- 
consistent." 

"  I  must  have  your  confidence,  my  good  lad." 


The  Poacher  319 

"  You  never  will  have  more  than  you  have  now.  I 
have  not  requested  you  to  defend  me.  I  care  nothing 
about  defence." 

"  Then  you  wish  to  be  hanged  ? " 

•*  No,  I  do  not  ;  but,  rather  than  say  anything,  I  will 
take  my  chance  of  it." 

"  This  is  very  strange,"  said  Mr  Trevor :  after  a  pause, 
he  continued,  "  I  observe  that  you  are  supposed  to  have 
killed  this  man,  Byres,  when  nobody  else  was  present ;  you 
were  known  to  go  out  with  your  father's  gun,  and  the 
keeper's  evidence  proved  that  you  poached.  Now,  as 
there  is  no  evidence  of  intentional  murder  on  your  part, 
it  is  not  impossible  that  the  gun  went  off  by  accident,  and 
that,  mere  boy  as  you  must  have  been  at  that  age,  you 
were  so  frightened  at  what  had  taken  place,  that  you 
absconded  from  fear.  It  appears  to  me  that  that  should 
be  our  line  of  defence." 

"  I  never  fired  at  the  man  at  all,"  said  Joey. 

"  Who  fired  the  gun,  then  ?  "  asked  Mr  Trevor. 

Joey  made  no  reply. 

"  Rushbrook,"  said  Mr  Trevor,  "I  am  afraid  I  can  be 
of  little  use  to  you  ;  indeed,  were  it  not  that  your  sister's 
tears  have  interested  me,  I  would  not  take  up  your  cause. 
I  cannot  understand  your  conduct,  which  appears  to  me  to 
be  absurd  ;  your  motives  are  inexplicable,  and  all  I  can 
believe  is,  that  you  have  committed  the  crime,  and  will 
not  divulge  the  secret  to  any  one,  not  even  to  those  who 
would  befriend  you." 

"  Think  of  me  what  you  please,  sir,"  rejoined  our  hero ; 
"  see  me  condemned,  and,  if  it  should  be  so,  executed ; 
and,  after  all  that  has  taken  place,  believe  me,  when  I 
assert  to  you — as  I  hope  for  salvation — I  am  not  guilty. 
I  thank  you,  sir,  thank  you  sincerely,  for  the  interest  you 
have  shown  for  me  j  I  feel  grateful,  excessively  grateful, 
and  the  more  so  for  what  you  have  said  of  Mary ;  but  if 
you  were  to  remain  here  for  a  month,  you  could  gain  no 
more  from  me  than  you  have  already." 

"  After  such  an  avowal,  it  is  useless  my  stopping  here," 


320  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

said  Mr  Trevor;  "I  must  make  what  defence  I  can,  for 
your  sister's  sake." 

"  Many,  many  thanks,  sir,  for  your  kindness  ;  I  am 
really  grateful  to  you,"  replied  Joey. 

Mr  Trevor  remained  for  a  minute  scanning  the 
countenance  of  our  hero.  There  was  something  in  it  so 
clear  and  bright,  so  unflinching,  so  proclaiming  innocence 
and  high  feeling,  that  he  sighed  deeply  as  he  left  the  cell. 

His  subsequent  interview  with  Mary  was  short ;  he 
explained  to  her  the  difficulties  arising  from  the  obstinacy 
of  her  brother;  but  at  the  same  time  expressed  his 
determination  to  do  his  best  to  save  him. 

Mary,  as  soon  as  she  had  seen  Mr  Trevor,  set  off  on 
her  return  to  the  Hall.  As  soon  as  she  went  to  Mrs 
Austin,  Mary  apprized  her  of  Mr  Trevor's  having 
consented  to  act  as  counsel  for  our  hero,  and  also  of  Joey's 
resolute  determination  not  to  divulge  the  secret. 

"  Madam,"  said  Mary,  after  some  hesitation,  "  it  is  my 
duty  to  have  no  secret  from  you  ;  and  I  hope  you  will  not 
be  angry  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  discovered  that  which 
you  would  have  concealed." 

"What  have  you  discovered,  Mary?"  asked  Mrs 
Austin,  looking  at  her  with  alarm. 

"  That  Joseph  Rushbrook  is  your  own  son,"  said  Mary, 
kneeling  down,  and  kissing  the  hand  of  her  mistress. 
"The  secret  is  safe  with  me,  depend  upon  it,"  she  con- 
tinued. 

"  And  how  have  you  made  the  discovery,  Mary  ;  for  I 
will  not  attempt  to  deny  it  ?  " 

Mary  then  entered  into  a  detail  of  her  conversation 
with  Mr  Trevor.  "He  asked  me,"  said  she,  "as  the 
sister  of  Joey,  if  we  had  any  relatives,  and  I  replied,  '  No  ; ' 
so  that  he  has  no  suspicion  of  the  fact.  I  beg  your 
pardon,  madam,  but  I  could  not  keep  it  from  Joey  ;  I  quite 
forgot  my  promise  to  you  at  the  time." 

"  And  what  did  my  poor  child  say  ?  " 

"  That  he  would  not  see  you  until  after  his  trial  ;  but, 
when  his  fate  was  decided,  he  should  like  to  see  you  once 


The  Poacher  321 

more.  Oh  !  madam  !  what  a  painful  sacrifice  !  and  yet, 
now,  I  do  not  blame  him ;  for  it  is  his  duty." 

"  My  dread  is  not  for  my  son,  Mary ;  he  is  innocent ; 
and  that  to  me  is  everything  ;  but  if  my  husband  was  to 
hear  of  his  being  about  to  be  tried,  I  know  not  what 
would  be  the  consequence.  If  it  can  only  be  kept  from 
his  knowledge  !  God  knows  that  he  has  suffered  enough  ! 
But  what  am  I  saying  ?  I  was  talking  nonsense." 

"Oh,  madam  !  I  know  the  whole;  I  cannot  be  blinded 
either  by  Joey  or  you.  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,  but, 
although  Joey  would  not  reply,  I  told  him  that  his  father 
did  the  deed.  But  do  not  answer  me,  madam ;  be  silent, 
as  your  son  has  been ;  and  believe  me  when  I  say  that  my 
suspicion  could  not  be  wrenched  from  me  even  by 
torture." 

"  I  do  trust  you,  Mary  j  and  perhaps  the  knowledge 
that  you  have  obtained  is  advantageous.  When  does  the 
trial  come  on  ?  " 

"  The  assizes  commence  to-morrow  forenoon,  madam, 
they  say." 

"  Oh  !  how  I  long  to  have  him  in  these  arms ! "  ex- 
claimed Mrs  Austin. 

"It  is  indeed  a  sad  trial  to  a  mother,  madam,"  replied 
Mary  ;  "  but  still  it  must  not  be  until  after  he  is " 

"  Yes  j  until  he  is  condemned  !  God  have  mercy  on 
me  ;  Mary,  you  had  better  return  to  Exeter ;  but  write  to 
me  every  day.  Stay  by  him  and  comfort  him ;  and  may 
the  God  of  comfort  listen  to  the  prayers  of  an  unhappy 
and  distracted  mother  !  Leave  me  now.  God  bless  you, 
my  dear  girl !  you  have  indeed  proved  a  comfort.  Leave 
me  now." 

Chapter  XLVII 

In  which  our  hero  proves  game  to  the  very  last. 

Mary  returned  to  Exeter.     The  trial  of  our  hero  was 
expected  to  come  on  on  the  following  day.     She  preferred 
J.R.  x 


322 


Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 


being  with  Joey  to  witnessing  the  agony  and  distress  of 
Mrs  Austin,  to  whom  she  could  offer  no  comfort ;  indeed, 
her  own  state  of  suspense  was  so  wearing,  that  she  almost 
felt  relief  when  the  day  of  trial  came  on.  Mr  Trevor  had 
once  more  attempted  to  reason  with  Joey,  but  our  hero 
continued  firm  in  his  resolution,  and  Mr  Trevor,  when  he 
made  his  appearance  in  the  court,  wore  upon  his  coun- 
tenance the  marks  of  sorrow  and  discontent :  he  did  not, 
nevertheless,  fail  in  his  duty.  Joey  was  brought  to  the 
bar,  and  his  appearance  was  so  different  from  that  which 
was  to  be  expected  in  one  charged  with  the  crime  of 
murder,  that  strong  interest  was  immediately  excited  ; 
the  spectators  anticipated  a  low-bred  ruffian,  and  they 
beheld  a  fair,  handsome  young  man,  with  an  open  brow 
and  intelligent  countenance,  whose  eye  quailed  not  when 
it  met  their  own,  and  whose  demeanour  was  bold  without 
being  offensive.  True  that  there  were  traces  of  sorrow 
on  his  countenance,  and  that  his  cheeks  were  pale  ;  but  no 
one  who  had  any  knowledge  of  human  nature,  or  any 
feeling  of  charity  in  his  disposition,  could  say  that  there 
was  the  least  appearance  of  guilt.  The  jury  were  em- 
pannelled,  the  counts  of  the  indictment  read  over,  and  the 
trial  commenced,  and,  as  the  indictment  was  preferred,  the 
judge  caught  the  date  of  the  supposed  offence. 

"  What  is  the  date  ? "  said  the  judge ;  "  the  year  I  mean  ?" 

Upon  the  reply  of  the  clerk,  his  lordship  observed, 
"  Eight  years  ago !  "  and  then  looking  at  the  prisoner, 
added,  "  Why,  he  must  have  been  a  child  !  " 

"As  is  too  often  the  case,"  replied  the  prosecuting 
counsel ;  "  a  child  in  years  but  not  in  guilt,  as  we  shall 
soon  bring  evidence  to  substantiate." 

As  the  evidence  brought  forward  was  the  same,  as  we 
have  already  mentioned,  as  given  on  the  inquest  over  the 
body,  we  shall  pass  it  over  j  that  of  Furness,  as  he  was  not 
to  be  found,  was  read  to  the  court.  As  the  trial  proceeded, 
and  as  each  fact  came  forth  more  condemning,  people  began 
to  look  with  less  compassion  on  the  prisoner :  they  shook 
their  heads  and  compressed  their  lips. 


The  Poacher  323 

As  soon  as  the  evidence  for  the  Crown  was  closed,  Mr 
Trevor  rose  in  our  hero's  defence.  He  commenced  by 
ridiculing  the  idea  of  trying  a  mere  child  upon  so  grave  a 
charge,  for  a  child  the  prisoner  must  have  been  at  the  time 
the  offence  was  committed.  "  Look  at  him,  now,  gentle- 
men of  the  jury ;  eight  years  ago  the  murder  of  the  pedlar, 
Byres,  took  place;  why,  you  may  judge  for  yourselves 
whether  he  is  now  more  than  seventeen  years  of  age  ;  he 
could  scarcely  have  held  a  gun  at  the  time  referred  to." 

"  The  prisoner's  age  does  not  appear  in  the  indictment," 
observed  the  judge. 

"  May  we  ask  his  age,  my  Lord  ?  "  demanded  one  of  the 
jury. 

"  The  prisoner  may  answer  the  question  if  he  pleases," 
replied  the  judge,  "  not  otherwise ;  perhaps  he  may  not 
yet  be  seventeen  years  of  age.  Do  you  wish  to  state  your 
age  to  the  jury,  prisoner  ? " 

"  I  have  no  objection,  my  Lord,"  replied  Joey,  not 
regarding  the  shakes  of  the  head  of  his  counsel;  "I  was 
twenty-two  last  month." 

Mr  Trevor  bit  his  lips  at  this  unfortunate  regard  for 
truth  in  our  hero,  and,  after  a  time,  proceeded,  observing 
that  the  very  candour  of  the  prisoner,  in  not  taking  an 
advantage  of  his  youthful  appearance  to  deceive  the  jury, 
ought  to  be  a  strong  argument  in  his  favour.  Mr  Trevor 
then  continued  to  address  the  jury  upon  the  vagueness  of 
the  evidence,  and,  as  he  proceeded,  observed — "  Now, 
gentlemen  of  the  jury,  if  this  case  had  been  offered  to  me 
to  give  an  opinion  upon,  I  should,  without  any  previous 
knowledge  of  the  prisoner,  have  just  come  to  the  following 
conclusion : — I  should  have  said  (and  your  intelligence  and 
good  sense  will,  I  have  no  doubt,  bear  me  out  in  this  sup- 
position), that,  allowing  that  the  pedlar,  Byres,  did  receive 
his  death  by  the  prisoner's  hand — I  say,  gentlemen,  that 
allowing  such  to  have  been  the  case,  for  I  deny  that  it  is 
borne  out  by  the  evidence — that  it  must  have  been  that,  at 
the  sudden  meeting  with  the  pedlar,  when  the  lad's  con- 
science told  him  that  what  he  was  doing  was  wrong,  that 


324  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

the  gun  of  the  prisoner  was  discharged  unintentionally,  and 
the  consequence  was  fatal :  I  should  then  surmise,  further, 
that  the  prisoner,  frightened  at  the  deed  which  he  had 
unintentionally  committed,  had  absconded  upon  the  first 
impulse.  That,  gentlemen,  I  believe  to  be  the  real  state 
of  the  case ;  and  what  was  more  natural  than  that  a  child 
under  such  circumstances  should  have  been  frightened,  and 
have  attempted  to  evade  the  inquiry  which  must  have 
eventually  ensued  ?  " 

"  You  state  such  to  be  your  opinion,  Mr  Trevor ;  do 
you  wish  me  to  infer  that  the  prisoner  pleads  such  as  his 
defence  ? "  asked  the  judge. 

"  My  Lord,"  replied  Mr  Trevor,  in  a  hesitating  way, 
"  the  prisoner  has  pleaded  not  guilty  to  the  crime  imputed 
to  him." 

"  That  I  am  aware  of,  but  I  wish  to  know  whether  you 
mean  to  say  that  the  prisoner's  defence  is,  not  having  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  death  of  the  pedlar,  or  upon  the  plea 
of  his  gun  going  off  by  accident  ? " 

"  My  Lord,  it  is  my  duty  to  my  client  to  make  no  admis- 
sion whatever." 

"I  should  think  that  you  would  be  safe  enough,  all 
circumstances  considered,  if  you  took  the  latter  course," 
observed  the  judge,  humanely. 

Mr  Trevor  was  now  in  a  dilemma ;  he  knew  not  how  to 
move.  He  was  fearful,  if  he  stated  positively  that  our 
hero's  gun  went  off  by  accident,  that  Joey  would  deny  it ; 
and  yet  if  he  was  permitted  to  assert  this  to  be  the  case, 
he  saw,  from  the  bearing  of  the  judge,  that  the  result  of 
the  trial  would  be  satisfactory.  It  hardly  need  be  observed 
that  both  judge,  prosecuting  counsel,  jury,  and  everybody 
in  court,  were  much  astonished  at  this  hesitation  on  the 
part  of  the  prisoner's  counsel. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  assert  that  the  gun  went  off  by 
accident,  Mr  Trevor  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

"I  never  fired  the  gun,  my  Lord,"  replied  Joey,  in  a 
clear,  steady  voice. 

M  The    prisoner    has    answered   for    me,"   replied    Mr 


The  Poacher  325 

Trevor,  recovering  himself;  "  we  are  perfectly  aware  that 
by  making  a  statement  of  accidental  murder,  we  could 
safely  have  left  the  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  an  intelligent 
jury ;  but  the  fact  is,  my  Lord,  that  the  prisoner  never 
fired  the  gun,  and  therefore  could  not  be  guilty  of  the 
murder  imputed  to  him." 

Mr  Trevor  had  felt,  upon  our  hero's  assertion,  that  his 
case  was  hopeless  j  he  roused  up,  however,  to  make  a 
strong  appeal  to  the  jury  ;  unfortunately,  it  was  declama- 
tion only,  not  disproof  of  the  charges,  and  the  reply  of  the 
prosecuting  counsel  completely  established  the  guilt  of  our 
hero  upon  what  is  called  presumptive  evidence.  The  jury 
retired  for  a  few  minutes  after  the  summing  up  of  the 
judge,  and  then  returned  a  verdict  against  our  hero  of 
Guilty,  but  recommended  him  to  mercy.  Although  the 
time  to  which  we  refer  was  one  in  which  leniency  was 
seldom  extended,  still  there  was  the  youth  of  our  hero, 
and  so  much  mystery  in  the  transaction,  that  when  the 
judge  passed  the  sentence,  he  distinctly  stated  that  the 
royal  mercy  would  be  so  far  extended,  that  the  sentence 
would  be  commuted  to  transportation.  Our  hero  made  no 
reply  ;  he  bowed,  and  was  led  back  to  his  place  of  con- 
finement, and  in  a  few  minutes  afterwards  the  arms  of  the 
weeping  Mary  were  encircled  round  his  neck. 

"  You  don't  blame  me,  Mary  ?  "  said  Joey. 

"No,  no,"  sobbed  Mary  ;  " all  that  the  world  can  do  is 
nothing,  when  we  are  innocent." 

"  I  shall  soon  be  far  from  here,  Mary,"  said  Joey, 
sitting  down  on  the  bedstead  ;  "  but  thank  Heaven  !  it  is 
over." 

The  form  of  Emma  Phillips  rose  up  in  our  hero's 
imagination,  and  he  covered  up  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  Had  it  not  been  for  her  !  "  thought  he.  "  What  must 
she  think  of  me  !  a  convicted  felon  !  this  is  the  hardest  of 
all  to  bear  up  against." 

"  Joey,"  said  Mary,  who  had  watched  him  in  silence 
and  tears,  "  I  must  go  now  ;  you  will  see  her  now,  will 
you  not  ? " 


326  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;   or, 

"She  never  will  see  me;  she  despises  me  already," 
replied  Joey. 

"  Your  mother  despise  her  noble  boy  ?  oh,  never  ! 
How  can  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  of  somebody  else,  Mary,"  replied  Joey. 
"  Yes,  I  wish  to  see  my  mother." 

"Then  I  will  go  now  ;  recollect  What  her  anxiety  and 
impatience  must  be.  I  will  travel  post  to-night,  and  be 
there  by  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Go,  dear  Mary,  go,  and  God  bless  you  ;  hasten  to  my 
poor  mother,  and  tell  her  that  I  am  quite — yes — quite 
happy  and  resigned.     Go  now,  quickly." 

Mary  left  the  cell,  and  Joey,  whose  heart  was  breaking 
at  the  moment  that  he  said  he  was  happy  and  resigned, 
for  he  was  thinking  of  his  eternal  separation  from  Emma, 
as  soon  as  he  was  alone,  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  and 
gave  full  vent  to  those  feelings  of  bitter  anguish  which  he 
could  no  longer  repress. 


Chapter  XLVIII 

In  which  everybody  appears  to  be  on  the  move  except  our  hero. 

Mary  set  off  with  post-horses,  and  arrived  at  the  Hall 
before  daylight.  She  remained  in  her  own  room  until 
the  post  came  in,  when  her  first  object  was  to  secure  the 
newspapers  before  the  butler  had  opened  them,  stating 
that  her  mistress  was  awake  and  requested  to  see  them. 
She  took  the  same  precaution  when  the  other  papers  came 
in  late  in  the  day,  so  that  Mr  Austin  should  not  read  the 
account  of  the  trial ;  this  was  the  more  easy  to  accomplish, 
as  he  seldom  looked  at  a  newspaper.  As  soon  as  the 
usual  hour  had  arrived,  Mary  presented  herself  to  her 
mistress,  and  communicated  the  melancholy  result  of  the 
trial.  Mrs  Austin  desired  Mary  to  say  to  the  servants 
that  she  was  going  to  remain  with  a  lady,  a  friend  of 
hers,  some  miles  off,  who  was  dangerously  ill,  and  should. 


- 


The  Poacher  327 

in  all  probability,  not  return  that  night,  or  even  the  next, 
if  her  friend  was  not  better ;  and,  her  preparations  for 
the  journey  being  completed,  she  set  ofF  with  Mary  a 
little  before  dark  on  her  way  to  Exeter. 

But,  if  Mr  Austin  did  not  look  at  the  newspapers, 
others  did,  and  amongst  the  latter  was  Major  M'Shane, 
who,  having  returned  from  his  tour,  was  sitting  with 
O'Donahue  and  the  two  ladies  in  the  library  of  his  own 
house  when  the  post  came  in.  The  Major  had  hardly 
looked  at  the  newspaper,  when  the  name  of  Rushbrook 
caught  his  eye ;  he  turned  to  it,  read  a  portion,  and  gave 
a  loud  whistle  of  surprise. 

"  What's  the  matter,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  Mrs 
M'Shane. 

"  Murder's  the  matter,  my  jewel,"  returned  the  Major  ; 
"  but  don't  interrupt  me  just  now,  for  I'm  breathless  with 
confusion." 

M'Shane  read  the  whole  account  of  the  trial,  and  the 
verdict,  and  then,  without  saying  a  word,  put  it  into  the 
hands  of  O'Donahue.  As  soon  as  O'Donahue  had  finished 
it,  M'Shane  beckoned  him  out  of  the  room. 

"  I  didn't  like  to  let  Mrs  M'Shane  know  it,  as  she 
would  take  it  sorely  to  heart,"  said  M'Shane ;  "  but 
what's  to  be  done  now,  O'Donahue  ?  You  see  the  boy 
has  not  peached  upon  his  father,  and  is  convicted  himself. 
It  would  be  poor  comfort  to  Mrs  M'Shane,  who  loves 
the  memory  of  that  boy  better  than  she  would  a  dozen 
little  M'Shanes,  if  it  pleased  heaven  to  grant  them  to  her, 
to  know  that  the  boy  is  found,  when  he  is  only  found 
to  be  sent  away  over  the  water ;  so  it  is  better  that 
nothing  should  be  said  about  it  just  now ;  but  what  is 
to  be  done  ?  " 

"Well,  it  appears  to  me  that  we  had  better  be  off  to 
Exeter  directly,"  replied  O'Donahue. 

"  Yes,  and  see  him,"  rejoined  the  Major. 
"Before  I  saw  him,  M'Shane,  I  would  call  upon  the 
lawyer  who  defended  him,  and  tell  him  what  you  know 
about   the   father,   and  what   our   suspicions,  I  may  say 


328 


Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 


convictions,  are.  He  would  then  tell  us  how  to  proceed, 
so  as  to  procure  his  pardon,  perhaps." 

"  That's  good  advice ;  and  now  what  excuse  are  we 
to  make  for  running  away  ? " 

"  As  for  my  wife,"  replied  O'Donahue,  "  I  may  as  well 
tell  her  the  truth ;  she  will  keep  it  secret ;  and  as  for 
yours,  she  will  believe  anything  you  please  to  tell  her." 

"  And  so  she  will,  the  good  creature,  and  that's  why 
I  never  can  bear  to  deceive  her  about  anything ;  but,  in 
this  instance,  it  is  all  for  her  own  sake  j  and,  therefore, 
suppose  your  wife  says  that  you  must  go  to  town  im- 
mediately, and  that  I  had  better  accompany  you,  as  it  is 
upon  a  serious  affair  ? " 

"Be  it  so,"  replied  O'Donahue  j  "do  you  order  the 
horses  to  be  put  to,  while  I  settle  the  affair  with  the 
females." 

This  was  soon  done,  and  in  half-an-hour  the  two 
gentlemen  were  on  their  way  to  Exeter  ;  and  as  soon 
as  they  arrived,  which  was  late  in  the  evening,  they 
established  themselves  at  the  principal  hotel. 

In  the  meantime  Mrs  Austin  and  Mary  had  also  arrived, 
and  had  taken  up  their  quarters  at  another  hotel,  where 
Mrs  Austin  would  be  less  exposed.  It  was,  however, 
too  late  to  visit  our  hero  when  they  arrived,  and  the  next 
morning  they  proceeded  to  the  gaol,  much  about  the 
same  hour  that  M'Shane  and  O'Donahue  paid  their  visit 
to  Mr  Trevor. 

Perhaps  it  will  be  better  to  leave  to  the  imagination  of 
our  readers  the  scene  which  occurred  between  our  hero 
and  his  mother,  as  we  have  had  too  many  painful  ones 
already  in  this  latter  portion  of  our  narrative.  The  joy 
and  grief  of  both  at  meeting  again,  only  to  part  for  ever — 
the  strong  conflict  between  duty  and  love — the  lacerated 
feelings  of  the  doting  mother,  the  true  and  affectionate  son, 
and  the  devoted  servant  and  friend — may  be  better  imagined 
than  expressed  :  but  their  grief  was  raised  to  its  climax  when 
our  hero,  pressed  in  his  mother's  arms  as  he  narrated  his 
adventures,  confessed  that  another  pang  was  added  to  his 


The  Poacher  329 

sufferings  in  parting  with  the  object  of  his  earliest 
affections. 

"  My  poor,  poor  boy,  this  is  indeed  a  bitter  cup  to 
drink  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs  Austin ;  "  may  God,  in  His  mercy, 
look  down  upon  you,  and  console  you  ! " 

"  He  will,  mother,  and  when  far  away,  not  before 
— not  until  you  can  safely  do  so — promise  me  to  go  to 
Emma,  and  tell  her  that  I  was  not  guilty  j  I  can  bear 
anything  but  that  she  should  despise  me." 

"  I  will,  my  child,  I  will ;  and  I  will  love  her  dearly 
for  your  sake.  Now  go  on  with  your  history,  my  dear 
boy." 

We  must  leave  our  hero  and  his  mother  in  conver- 
sation, and  return  to  M'Shane  and  O'Donahue,  who,  as 
soon  as  they  had  breakfasted,  repaired  to  the  lodgings  of 
Mr  Trevor. 

M'Shane,  who  was  spokesman,  soon  entered  upon  the 
business  which  brought  them  there. 

Mr  Trevor  stated  to  him  the  pertinacity  of  our  hero, 
and  the  impossibility  of  saving  him  from  condemnation,  re- 
marking, at  the  same  time,  that  there  was  a  mystery  which 
he  could  not  fathom. 

M'Shane  took  upon  himself  to  explain  that  mystery, 
having,  as  we  have  before  observed,  already  been  sufficiently 
clear-sighted  to  fathom  it ;  and  referred  to  O'Donahue 
to  corroborate  his  opinion  of  the  elder  Rushbrook's 
character. 

"  And  this  father  of  his  is  totally  lost  sight  of,  you  say  ?  " 
observed  Mr  Trevor. 

"  Altogether  j  I  have  never  been  able  to  trace  him,"  re- 
plied M'Shane. 

"  I  was  observing  to  his  sister "  said  Mr  Trevor. 

"  He  has  no  sister,"  interrupted  M'Shane. 

"  Still  there  is  a  young  woman — and  a  very  sweet 
young  woman  too — who  came  to  me  in  London,  to  engage 
me  for  his  defence,  who  represented  herself  as  his  sister." 

"That  is  strange,"  rejoined  M'Shane,  musing. 

"  But,  however,"  continued  Mr  Trevor,  "  as  I  was  about 


330  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

to  say,  I  was  observing  to  this  young  woman,  how  strange 
it  was,  that  the  first  time  I  was  legally  employed  for  the 
name  of  Rushbrook,  it  should  be  a  case  which,  in  the  opinion 
of  the  world,  should  produce  the  highest  gratification, 
and  that  in  the  second  in  one  which  has  ended  in 
misery." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ? "  inquired  M'Shane. 

"  I  put  a  person  of  the  name  of  Rushbrook  in  possession 
of  a  large  fortune.  I  asked  our  young  friend's  sister 
whether  he  could  be  any  relation,  but  she  said  no." 

"  Young  Rushbrook  had  no  sister,  I  am  sure,"  inter- 
rupted M'Shane. 

"I  now  recollect,"  continued  Mr  Trevor,  "that  this 
person  who  came  into  the  fortune  stated  that  he  had  formerly 
held  a  commission  in  the  army." 

"Then  depend  on  it  it's  Rushbrook  himself  who  has 
given  himself  brevet  rank,"  replied  M'Shane.  "  Where 
is  he  now  ?  " 

"  Down  in  Dorsetshire,"  said  Mr  Trevor ;  "  he  suc- 
ceeded to  the  Austin  estate,  and  has  taken  the  name." 

"  'Tis  he  !  'tis  he !  I'll  swear  to  it,"  cried  M'Shane ; 
"  Phillaloo  !  Murder  and  Irish!  the  murder's  out  now. 
No  wonder  this  gentleman  wouldn't  return  my  visit,  and 
keeps  himself  entirely  at  home.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr 
Trevor,  but  what  sort  of  a  looking  personage  may  he  be, 
for,  as  I  have  said,  I  have  never  seen  this  Mr  Austin  ?  " 

"  A  fine,  tall,  soldierly  man  j  I  should  say  rough,  but 
still  not  vulgar,  dark  hair  and  eyes,  aquiline  nose ;  if  I 
recollect  right " 

"  'Tis  the  man !  "  exclaimed  O'Donahue. 

"  And  his  wife — did  you  see  her  ? "  asked  M'Shane. 

"  No,  I  did  not,"  replied  Mr  Trevor. 

"  Well,  I  have  seen  her  very  often,"  rejoined  M'Shane  ; 
"  and  a  very  nice  creature  she  appears  to  be.  I  have  never 
been  in  their  house  in  my  life,  I  called  and  left  my  card, 
that's  all ;  but  I  have  met  her  several  times  ;  however,  as 
you  have  not  seen  her,  that  proves  nothing  ;  and  now,  Mr 
Trevor,  what  do  you  think  we  should  do  ? " 


The  Poacher  331 

"  I  really  am  not  prepared  to  advise  ;  it  is  a  case  of 
great  difficulty ;  I  think,  however,  it  would  be  advisable 
for  you  to  call  upon  young  Rushbrook,  and  see  what 
you  can  obtain  from  him  ;  after  that,  if  you  come  here 
to-morrow  morning,  I  will  be  better  prepared  to  give 
you  an  answer." 

"  I  will  do  as  you  wish,  sir ;  I  will  call  upon  my  friend 
first,  and  my  name's  not  M'Shane,  if  I  don't  call  upon  his 
father  afterwards." 

"  Do  nothing  rashly,  I  beg,"  replied  Mr  Trevor ; 
"  recollect  you  have  come  to  me  for  advice,  and  I  think 
you  are  bound  at  least  to  hear  what  I  have  to  propose 
before  you  act." 

"  That's  the  truth,  Mr  Trevor ;  so  now,  with  many 
thanks,  we  will  take  our  leave,  and  call  upon  you  to- 
morrow." 

M'Shane  and  O'Donahue  then  proceeded  to  the  gaol 
and  demanded  permission  to  see  our  hero. 

"  There  are  two  ladies  with  him,  just  now,"  said  the 
gaoler;  "they  have  been  there  these  three  hours,  so  I 
suppose  they  will  not  be  much  longer." 

"We  will  wait  then,"  replied  O'Donahue. 

In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Mrs  Austin  and  Mary 
made  their  appearance ;  the  former  was  closely  veiled 
when  she  entered  the  gaoler's  parlour,  in  which  O'Donahue 
and  M'Shane  were  waiting.  It  had  not  been  the  intention 
of  Mrs  Austin  to  have  gone  into  the  parlour,  but  her 
agitation  and  distress  had  so  overcome  her  that  she  could 
scarcely  walk,  and  Mary  had  persuaded  her,  as  she  came 
down,  to  go  in  and  take  a  glass  of  water.  The  gentlemen 
rose  when  she  came  in  j  she  immediately  recognised 
M'Shane,  and  the  sudden  rush  into  her  memory  of  what 
might  be  the  issue  of  the  meeting,  was  so  overwhelming, 
that  she  dropped  into  a  chair  and  fainted. 

Mary  ran  for  some  water,  and  while  she  did  so, 
M'Shane  and  O'Donahue  went  to  the  assistance  of  Mrs 
Austin.  The  veil  was  removed,  and,  of  course,  she  was 
immediately  recognised  by  M'Shane,  who  was  now  fully 


3$2  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

convinced  that  Austin  and  Rushbrook  were  one  and  the 
same  person. 

Upon  the  first  signs  of  returning  animation,  M'Shane 
had  the  delicacy  to  withdraw,  and  making  a  sign  to  the 
gaoler,  he  and  O'Donahue  repaired  to  the  cell  of  our 
hero.  The  greeting  was  warm  on  both  sides.  M'Shane 
was  eager  to  enter  upon  the  subject ;  he  pointed  out  to 
Joey  that  he  knew  who  committed  the  murder  j  indeed, 
plainly  told  him  that  it  was  the  deed  of  his  father.  But 
Joey,  as  before,  would  admit  nothing  ;  he  was  satisfied 
with  their  belief  in  his  innocence,  but,  having  made  up 
his  mind  to  suffer,  could  not  be  persuaded  to  reveal  the 
truth,  and  M'Shane  and  O'Donahue  quitted  the  cell, 
perceiving  that  unless  most  decided  steps  were  taken, 
without  the  knowledge  of  our  hero,  there  was  no  chance 
of  his  being  extricated  from  his  melancholy  fate.  Struck 
with  admiration  at  his  courage  and  self-devotion  towards 
an  unworthy  parent,  they  bade  him  farewell,  simply  promis- 
ing to  use  all  their  endeavours  in  his  behalf. 


Chapter  XLIX 

The  interview. 

According  to  their  arrangement,  on  the  following  morning, 
M'Shane  and  O'Donahue  called  upon  Mr  Trevor,  and 
after  half-an-hour's  consultation,  it  was  at  last  decided 
that  they  should  make  an  attempt  to  see  Austin,  and  bide 
the  issue  of  the  interview,  when  they  would  again  com- 
municate with  the  lawyer,  who  was  to  return  to  town  on 
the  following  day.  They  then  set  off  as  fast  as  four 
horses  could  convey  them,  and  drove  direct  to  the  Hall, 
where  they  arrived  about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening. 

It  had  so  happened  that  Austin  had  the  evening  before 
inquired  for  his  wife.  The  servant  reported  to  him  what 
Mary  had  told  them,  and  Austin,  who  was  in  a  fidgetty 
humour,  had  sent  for  the  coachman  who  had  driven  the 


The  Poacher  33$ 

carriage,  to  inquire  whether  Mrs  Austin's  friend  was  very 
ill.  The  coachman  stated  that  he  had  not  driven  over  to 
the  place  in  question,  but  to  the  nearest  post-town,  where 
Mrs  Austin  had  taken  a  post-chaise.  This  mystery  and 
concealment  on  the  part  of  his  wife  was  not  very  agreeable 
to  a  man  of  Mr  Austin's  temper ;  he  was  by  turns  indig- 
nant and  alarmed ;  and  after  having  passed  a  sleepless 
night,  had  been  all  the  day  anxiously  awaiting  Mrs 
Austin's  return,  when  the  sound  of  wheels  was  heard,  and 
the  carriage  of  M'Shane  drove  up  to  the  door.  On 
inquiry  if  Mr  Austin  was  at  home,  the  servants  replied 
that  they  would  ascertain  j  and  Austin,  who  imagined  that 
this  unusual  visit  might  be  connected  with  his  wife's 
mysterious  absence,  desired  the  butler  to  show  in  the 
visitors.  Austin  started  at  the  announcement  of  the  names, 
but  recovering  himself,  he  remained  standing  near  the 
table,  drawn  up  to  his  full  height. 

"  Mr  Austin,"  said  O'Donahue,  "  we  have  ventured  to 
call  upon  you  upon  an  affair  of  some  importance  :  as  Mr 
Austin,  we  have  not  the  pleasure  of  your  acquaintance, 
but  we  were  formerly,  if  I  mistake  not,  serving  his 
Majesty  in  the  same  regiment." 

"I  do  not  pretend  to  deny,  gentlemen,  that  you  once 
knew  me  under  different  circumstances,"  replied  Austin, 
haughtily ;  "  will  you  please  to  be  seated,  and  then  pro- 
bably you  will  favour  me  with  the  cause  of  this  visit." 

"  May  I  enquire  of  you,  Mr  Austin,"  said  M'Shane, 
"if  you  may  have  happened  to  look  over  the  newspapers 
within  these  few  days  ? " 

"No!  and  now  I  recollect — which  is  unusual — the 
papers  have  not  been  brought  to  me  regularly." 

"They  were  probably  withheld  from  you  in  conse- 
quence of  the  intelligence  they  would  have  conveyed  to 
you." 

"  May  I  ask  what  that  intelligence  may  be  ? "  inquired 
Austin,  surprised. 

"  The  trial,  conviction,  and  sentence  to  transportation 
for  life  of  one  Joseph  Rushbrook,  for  the  murder  of  a  man 


334  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

of  the  name  of  Byres,"  replied  M'Shane  -,  "  Mr   Austin, 
you  are  of  course  aware  that  he  is  your  son." 

"  You  have,  of  course,  seen  the  party,  and  he  has  made 
that  statement  to  you  ?  "  replied  Mr  Austin. 

"  We  have  seen  the  party,  but  he  has  not  made  that 
statement,"  replied  O'Donahue  ;  "  but  do  you  pretend  to 
deny  it  ? " 

"lam  not  aware  upon  what  grounds  you  have  thought 
proper  to  come  here  to  interrogate  me,"  replied  Austin. 
"  Supposing  that  I  had  a  son,  and  that  son  has,  as  you  say, 
been  guilty  of  the  deed,  it  certainly  is  no  concern  of  yours." 

"  First,  with  your  leave,  Mr  Austin,"  said  M'Shane, 
"  let  me  prove  that  he  is  your  son.  You  were  living  at 
Grassford,  where  the  murder  was  committed ;  your  son 
ran  away  in  consequence,  and  fell  into  the  hands  of 
Captain  (now  General)  O'Donahue ;  from  him  your  son 
was  made  over  to  me,  and  I  adopted  him  ;  but  having 
been  recognised,  when  at  school,  by  Furness,  the  school- 
master of  the  village,  he  absconded  to  avoid  being 
apprehended ;  and  I  have  never  seen  him  from  that  time 
till  yesterday  morning,  when  I  called  upon  him,  and  had 
an  interview,  as  soon  as  his  mother,  Mrs  Austin,  had 
quitted  the  cell  in  Exeter  gaol,  where  he  is  at  present 
confined." 

Austin  started — here  was  the  cause  of  Mrs  Austin's 
absence  explained ;  neither  could  he  any  longer  refuse  to 
admit  that  Joey  was  his  son.  After  a  silence  of  a  minute, 
he  replied — 

"  I  have  to  thank  you  much  for  your  kindnesss  to  my 
poor  boy,  Major  M'Shane  ;  and  truly  sorry  am  I  that  he 
is  in  such  a  dilemma.  Now  that  I  am  acquainted  with  it, 
I  shall  do  all  in  my  power.  There  are  other  Rushbrooks, 
gentlemen,  and  you  cannot  be  surprised  at  my  not  im- 
mediately admitting  that  such  a  disgrace  has  occurred  to 
my  own  family.  Of  Mrs  Austin  having  been  with  him  I 
assure  you  I  had  not  any  idea ;  her  having  gone  there  puts 
it  beyond  a  doubt,  although  it  has  been  carefully  concealed 
from  me  till  this  moment." 


The  Poacher  335 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  because  Austin  replied  so 
calmly  to  Major  M'Shane,  he  was  calm  within.  On  the 
contrary,  from  the  very  first  of  the  interview  he  had  been 
in  a  state  of  extreme  excitement,  and  the  struggle  to  com- 
mand his  feelings  was  terrible  ;  indeed,  it  was  now  so  pain- 
fully expressed  in  his  countenance,  that  O'Donahue  said — 

"  Perhaps,  Mr  Austin,  you  will  allow  me  to  ring  for  a 
little  water  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  thank  you,"  replied  Austin,  gasping  for  breath. 

"  Since  you  have  admitted  that  Joseph  Rushbrook  is 
your  son,  Mr  Austin,"  continued  M'Shane,  "your  own 
flesh  and  blood,  may  I  inquire  of  you  what  you  intend  to 
do  in  his  behalf  ?  Do  you  intend  to  allow  the  law  to  take 
its  course,  and  your  son  to  be  banished  for  life  ? " 

"  What  can  I  do,  gentlemen  ?  He  has  been  tried  and 
condemned ;  of  course,  if  any  exertion  on  my  part  can 
avail — but  I  fear  that  there  is  no  chance  of  that." 

"  Mr  Austin,  if  he  were  guilty  I  should  not  have 
interfered  ;  but,  in  my  opinion,  he  is  innocent ;  do  you  not 
think  so  ? " 

"I  do  not  believe,  sir,  that  he  ever  would  have  done 
such  a  deed  ;  but  that  avails  nothing,  he  is  condemned." 

"  I  grant  it,  unless  the  real  murderer  of  the  pedlar 
could  be  brought  forward." 

"  Y-e-s,"  replied  Austin,  trembling. 

"  Shall  I  denounce  him,  Mr  Austin  ?  " 

"Do  you  know  him?"  replied  Austin,  starting  on  his  feet. 

"  Yes,  Rushbrook,"  replied  M'Shane,  in  a  voice  of 
thunder,  "I  do  know  him, — 'tis  yourself!" 

Austin  could  bear  up  no  longer,  he  fell  down  on  the 
floor  as  if  he  had  been  shot.  O'Donahue  and  M'Shane 
went  to  his  assistance;  they  raised  him  up,  but  he  was 
insensible;  they  then  rang  the  bell  for  assistance,  the 
servant  came  in,  medical  advice  was  sent  for,  and  M'Shane 
and  O'Donahue,  perceiving  there  was  no  chance  of 
prosecuting  their  intentions,  in  Mr  Austin's  present  state, 
quitted  the  Hall  just  as  the  chaise  with  Mrs  Austin  and 
Mary  drove  up  to  the  door. 


336  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 


Chapter  L 

In  which  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  story  winds  up  to  the  satisfaction  of 
the  reader. 

It  was  not  for  some  time  after  the  arrival  of  the  medical 
men  that  Mr  Austin  could  be  recovered  from  his  state  of 
insensibility,  and  when  he  was  at  last  restored  to  life,  it 
was  not  to  reason.  He  raved  wildly,  and  it  was  pronounced 
that  his  attack  was  a  brain  fever.  As,  in  his  incoherent 
exclamations,  the  name  of  Byres  was  frequently  repeated, 
as  soon  as  the  medical  assistance  had  withdrawn,  Mrs  Austin 
desired  all  the  servants,  with  the  exception  of  Mary,  to 
quit  the  room ;  they  did  so  with  reluctance,  for  their 
curiosity  was  excited,  and  there  was  shrugging  of  the 
shoulders,  and  whispering,  and  surmising,  and  repeating 
of  the  words  which  had  escaped  from  their  unconscious 
master's  lips,  and  hints  that  all  was  not  right  passed  from 
one  to  the  other  in  the  servants'  hall.  In  the  meantime, 
Mrs  Austin  and  Mary  remained  with  him ;  and  well  it  was 
that  the  servants  had  been  sent  away,  if  they  were  not  to 
know  what  had  taken  place  so  long  ago,  for  now  Austin 
played  the  whole  scene  over  again,  denounced  himself  as  a 
murderer,  spoke  of  his  son,  and  of  his  remorse,  and  then  he 
would  imagine  himself  in  conflict  with  Byres — he  clenched 
his  fists — and  he  laughed  and  chuckled — and  then  would 
change  again  to  bitter  lamentations  for  the  deed  which  he 
had  done. 

"  Oh,  Mary,  how  is  this  to  end  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs  Austin, 
after  one  of  the  paroxysms  had  subsided. 

"  As  guilt  always  must  end,  madam,"  replied  Mary, 
bursting  into  tears,  and  clasping  her  hands, — "  in  misery." 

"  My  dear  Mary,  do  not  distress  yourself  in  that  manner; 
you  are  no  longer  guilty." 

"Nor  is  my  master  then,  madam  j  for  I  am  sure  that  he 
has  repented." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  he  has  repented  most  sincerely  ;  one  hasty 


The  Poacher  ^>ll 

deed  has  embittered  his  whole  life — he  never  has  been 
happy  since,  and  never  will  be  until  he  is  in  heaven." 

"  Oh,  what  a  happy  relief  it  would  be  to  him  !  "  replied 
Mary,  musing.  "  I  wish  that  I  was,  if  such  wish  is  not 
sinful." 

"  Mary,  you  must  not  add  to  my  distress  by  talking  in 
that  manner ;  I  want  your  support  and  consolation  now." 

"  You  have  a  right  to  demand  everything  of  me,  madam," 
replied  Mary,  "and  I  will  do  my  best,  I  will  indeed;  I 
have  often  felt  this  before,  and  I  thank  God  for  it ;  it  will 
make  me  more  humble." 

The  fever  continued  for  many  days,  during  which  time 
Mr  Austin  was  attended  solely  by  his  wife  and  Mary ;  the 
latter  had  written  to  our  hero,  stating  the  cause  of  her 
absence  from  him  in  so  trying  a  period,  and  had  received 
an  answer,  stating  that  he  had  received  from  very  good 
authority  the  information  that  he  was  not  likely  to  leave 
the  country  for  some  weeks,  and  requesting  that  Mary 
would  remain  with  his  mother  until  his  father's  dangerous 
illness  was  decided  one  way  or  the  other  ;  he  stated  that 
he  should  be  perfectly  satisfied  if  he  only  saw  her  once 
before  his  departure,  to  arrange  with  her  relative  to  her 
affairs,  and  to  give  her  legal  authority  to  act  for  him, 
previous  to  his  removal  from  the  country.  He  told  her 
that  he  had  perceived  an  advertisement  in  the  London 
papers,  evidently  put  in  by  his  friends  at  Portsmouth, 
offering  a  handsome  reward  to  anyone  who  could  give  any 
account  of  him — and  that  he  was  fearful  that  some  of  those 
who  were  at  the  trial  would  read  it,  and  make  known  his 
position  ;  he  begged  Mary  to  write  to  him  every  day  if 
possible,  if  it  were  only  a  few  lines,  and  sent  his  devoted 
love  to  his  mother.  Mary  complied  with  all  our  hero's 
requests,  and  every  day  a  few  lines  were  despatched ;  and 
it  was  now  ascertained  by  the  other  domestics,  and  by  them 
made  generally  known,  that  a  daily  correspondence  was 
kept  up  with  a  prisoner  in  Exeter  gaol,  which  added  still 
more  mystery  and  interest  in  the  state  of  Mr  Austin.  Many 
were  the  calls  and  cards  left  at  the  Hall,  and  if  we  were  to 
J.R.  Y 


2,3%  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

inquire  whether  curiosity  or  condolence  was  the  motive  of 
those  who  went  there,  we  are  afraid  that  the  cause  would, 
in  most  cases,  have  proved  to  have  been  the  former.  Among 
others,  O'Donahue  and  M'Shane  did  not  fail  to  send  every 
day,  waiting  for  the  time  when  they  could  persuade  Austin 
to  do  justice  to  his  own  child. 

The  crisis,  as  predicted  by  the  medical  attendants,  at  last 
arrived,  and  Mr  Austin  recovered  his  reason,  but,  at  the 
same  time,  all  hopes  of  his  again  rising  from  his  bed  were 
given  over.  This  intelligence  was  communicated  to  his 
wife,  who  wept  and  wished,  but  dared  not  utter  what 
she  wished  ;  Mary,  however,  took  an  opportunity,  when 
Mrs  Austin  had  quitted  the  room,  to  tell  Mr  Austin,  who 
was  in  such  a  feeble  state  that  he  could  hardly  speak,  that 
the  time  would  soon  come  when  he  would  be  summoned 
before  a  higher  tribunal,  and  conjured  him  by  the  hopes 
he  had  of  forgiveness,  now  that  the  world  was  fading 
away  before  his  eyes,  to  put  away  all  pride,  and  to  do 
that  justice  to"  his  son  which  our  hero's  noble  conduct 
towards  him  demanded — to  make  a  confession  either  in 
writing  or  in  presence  of  witnesses,  before  he  died — which 
would  prove  the  innocence  of  his  only  child,  the  heir  to 
the  property  and  the  name. 

There  was  a  struggle,  and  a  long  one,  in  the  proud 
heart  of  Mr  Austin  before  he  could  consent  to  this  act  of 
justice.  Mary  had  pointed  out  the  propriety  of  it  early 
in  the  morning,  and  it  was  not  until  late  in  the  evening, 
after  having  remained  in  silence  and  with  his  eyes  closed 
for  the  whole  day,  that  Austin  made  a  sign  to  his  wife  to 
bend  down  to  him,  and  desired  her  in  a  half-whisper  to 
send  for  a  magistrate.  His  request  was  immediately 
attended  to  ;  and  in  an  hour  the  summons  was  answered 
by  one  with  whom  Austin  had  been  on  good  terms. 
Austin  made  his  deposition  in  few  words,  and  was  sup- 
ported by  Mary  while  he  signed  the  paper.  It  was  done ; 
and  when  she  would  have  removed  the  pen  from  his 
fingers,  she  found  that  it  was  still  held  fast,  and  that  his 
head  had  fallen  back  ;  the  conflict  between  his  pride  and 


The  Poacher  339 

this  act  of  duty  had  been  too  overpowering  for  him  in  his 
weak  condition,  and  Mr  Austin  was  dead  before  the  ink  of 
his  signature  had  time  to  dry. 

The  gentleman  who  had  been  summoned  in  his  capacity 
of  magistrate  thought  it  advisable  to  remove  from  the  scene 
of  distress  without  attempting  to  communicate  with  Mrs 
Austin  in  her  present  distress.  He  had  been  in  conversa- 
tion with  O'Donahue  and  M'Shane  at  the  time  that  he  was 
summoned,  and  Mr  Austin's  illness  and  the  various  reports 
abroad  had  been  there  canvassed.  O'Donahue  and 
M'Shane  had  reserved  the  secret ;  but  when  their  friend 
was  sent  for,  anticipating  that  some  such  result  would 
take  place,  they  requested  him  to  return  to  them  from  the 
Hall ;  he  did  so,  and  acquainted  them  with  what  had 
passed. 

"  There's  no  time  to  lose,  then,"  said  M'Shane  ;  "  I  will, 
if  you  please,  take  a  copy  of  this  deposition." 

O'Donahue  entered  into  a  brief  narrative  of  the  circum- 
stances and  the  behaviour  of  our  hero  ;  and,  as  soon  as  the 
copy  of  the  deposition  had  been  attested  by  the  magistrate, 
he  and  M'Shane  ordered  horses,  and  set  off  for  London. 
They  knocked  up  Mr  Trevor  at  his  private  house  in  the 
middle  of  the  night,  and  put  the  document  into  his  hands. 

"  Well,  Major  M'Shane,  I  would  gladly  have  risen  from 
a  sick  bed  to  have  had  this  paper  put  into  my  hands ;  we 
must  call  upon  the  Secretary  of  State  to-morrow,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  but  that  the  poor  lad  will  be  speedily  re- 
leased, take  possession  of  his  property,  and  be  an  honour 
to  the  county." 

"  An  honour  to  old  England,"  replied  M'Shane  ;  "  but 
I  shall  now  wish  you  good-night." 

M'Shane,  before  he  went  to  bed,  immediately  wrote  a 
letter  to  Mrs  Austin,  acquainting  her  with  what  he  had 
done,  and  the  intentions  of  Mr  Trevor,  sending  it  by 
express ;  he  simply  stated  the  facts,  without  any  com- 
ments. 

But  we  must  now  return  to  Portsmouth.  The  advertise- 
ment of  Mr   Small   did  not   escape  the  keen  eye  of  the 


34°  Joseph  Rushbrook;  or, 

police-constable  who  had  arrested  our  hero — as  the  reader 
must  recollect  the  arrest  was  made  so  quietly  that  no  one 
was  aware  of  the  circumstance,  and  as  the  reward  of  ^ioo 
would  be  a  very  handsome  addition  to  the  £200  which 
he  had  already  received — the  man  immediately  set  off  for 
Portsmouth  on  the  outside  of  the  coach,  and  went  to  Mr 
Small,  where  he  found  him  in  the  counting-house  with 
Mr  Sleek.  He  soon  introduced  himself,  and  his  business 
with  them  j  and  such  was  Mr  Small's  impatience  that  he 
immediately  signed  a  cheque  for  the  amount,  and  handed 
it  to  the  police-officer,  who  then  bluntly  told  him  that  our 
hero  had  been  tried  for  murder,  and  sentenced  to  trans- 
portation, his  real  name  being  Rushbrook,  and  not 
O'Donahue. 

This  was  a  heavy  blow  to  Mr  Small ;  having  obtained 
all  the  particulars  from  the  police-constable,  he  dismissed 
him,  and  was  for  some  time  in  consultation  with  Mr 
Sleek ;  and  as  it  would  be  impossible  long  to  withhold 
the  facts,  it  was  thought  advisable  that  Mrs  Phillips  and 
Emma  should  become  acquainted  with  them  immediately, 
the  more  so  as  Emma  had  acknowledged  that  there  was 
a  mystery  about  our  hero,  a  portion  of  which  she  was 
acquainted  with. 

Mrs  Phillips  was  the  first  party  to  whom  the  intelligence 
was  communicated,  and  she  was  greatly  distressed.  It  was 
some  time  before  she  could  decide  upon  whether  Emma, 
in  her  weak  state,  should  be  made  acquainted  with  the 
melancholy  tidings,  but  as  she  had  suffered  so  much  from 
suspense,  it  was  at  last  considered  advisable  that  the 
communication  should  be  made.  It  was  done  as  cautiously 
as  possible  ;  Emma  was  not  so  shocked  as  they  supposed 
she  would  have  been  at  the  intelligence. 

"  I  have  been  prepared  for  this,  or  something  like  this," 
replied  she,  weeping  in  her  mother's  arms,  "  but  I  cannot 
believe  that  he  has  done  the  deed ;  he  told  me  that  he  did 
not,  when  he  was  a  child ;  he  has  asserted  it  since. 
Mother,  I  must — I  will  go  and  see  him." 

"  See  him,  my  child  !  he  is  confined  in  gaol." 


The  Poacher  341 

"Do  not  refuse  me,  mother,  you  know  not  what  I  feel 
— you  know  not — I  never  knew  myself  till  now  how  much 
I  loved  him.  See  him  I  must  and  will.  Dearest  mother, 
if  you  value  my  life,  if  you  would  not  drive  reason  from 
its  seat,  do  not  refuse  me." 

Mrs  Phillips  found  that  it  was  in  vain  to  argue,  and 
consulted  with  Mr  Small,  who  at  length  (after  having  in 
vain  remonstrated  with  Emma)  decided  that  her  request 
should  be  granted,  and  that  very  day  he  accompanied  his 
niece,  travelling  all  night,  until  they  arrived  at  Exeter. 

In  the  meantime  Mrs  Austin  had  remained  in  a  state  of 
great  distress ;  her  husband  lay  dead ;  she  believed  that 
he  had  confessed  his  guilt,  but  to  what  extent  she  did  not 
know,  for  neither  she  nor  Mary  had  heard  what  passed 
between  him  and  the  magistrate.  She  had  no  one  but 
Mary  to  confide  in  or  to  console,  no  one  to  advise  with  or 
to  consult.  She  thought  of  sending  for  the  magistrate, 
but  it  would  appear  indecorous,  and  she  was  all  anxiety 
and  doubt.  The  letter  from  M'Shane,  which  arrived  the 
next  afternoon,  relieved  her  at  once ;  she  felt  that  her  boy 
was  safe. 

"Mary,  dear,  read  this;  he  is  safe,"  exclaimed  she; 
"  God  of  heaven,  accept  a  mother's  grateful  tears." 

"  Cannot  you  spare  me,  madam  ? "  replied  Mary,  re- 
turning the  letter, 

"  Spare  you.  Oh,  yes !  quick,  Mary,  lose  not  a 
moment,  go  to  him,  and  take  this  letter  with  you.  My 
dear,  dear  child." 

Mary  did  not  wait  a  second  command ;  she  sent  for  post- 
horses,  and  in  half  an  hour  was  on  her  way  to  Exeter  ; 
travelling  with  as  much  speed  as  Emma  and  her  uncle,  she 
arrived  there  but  a  few  hours  after  them. 

Our  hero  had  been  anxiously  awaiting  for  Mary's  daily 
communication,  the  post  time  had  passed,  and  it  had  not 
arrived.  Pale  and  haggard  from  long  confinement  and 
distress  of  mind,  he  was  pacing  up  and  down,  when  the 
bolts  were  turned,  and  Emma,  supported  by  her  uncle, 
entered  the  cell.     At  the  sight  of  her,  our  hero  uttered  a 


342  Joseph  Rushbrook ;  or, 

cry,  and  staggered  against  the  wall ;  he  appeared  to  have 
lost  his  usual  self-control.  "  Oh,"  said  he,  "  this  might 
have  been  spared  me,  I  have  not  deserved  this  punishment. 
Emma,  hear  me.  As  I  hope  for  future  happiness,  I  am 
innocent ;  I  am — I  am,  indeed — ,"  and  he  fell  senseless  on 
the  pavement. 

Mr  Small  raised  him  up  and  put  him  on  the  bed  ;  after 
a  time  he  revived,  and  remained  where  he  had  been  laid, 
sobbing  convulsively. 

As  soon  as  he  became  more  composed,  Emma,  who 
had  been  sitting  by  him,  the  tears  coursing  each 
other  down  her  pale  cheeks,  addressed  him  in  a  calm 
voice. 

"  I  feel — I  am  sure  that  you  are  innocent,  or  I  should 
not  have  been  here." 

"  Bless  you  for  that,  Emma,  bless  you  ;  those  few  words 
of  yours  have  given  me  more  consolation  than  you  can 
imagine.  Is  it  nothing  to  be  treated  as  a  felon,  to  be 
disgraced,  to  be  banished  to  a  distant  country,  and  that  at 
the  very  time  that  I  was  full  of  happiness,  prosperous,  and 
anticipating  ? — (but  I  cannot  dwell  upon  that).  Is  it  not 
hard  to  bear,  Emma  ?  and  what  could  support  me,  but  the 
consciousness  of  my  own  innocence,  and  the  assurance  that 
she  whom  I  love  so,  and  whom  I  now  lose  for  ever,  still 
believes  me  so  ?  Yes,  it  is  a  balm ;  a  consolation  ;  and  I 
will  now  submit  to  the  will  of  Heaven." 

Emma  burst  into  years,  leaning  her  face  on  our  hero's 
shoulders.  After  a  time  she  replied,  "  And  am  I  not  to  be 
pitied  ?  Is  it  nothing  to  love  tenderly,  devotedly,  madly 
— to  have  given  my  heart,  my  whole  thoughts,  my  existence 
to  one  object — (why  should  I  conceal  it  now  ?  ) — to  have 
been  dwelling  upon  visions  of  futurity  so  pleasing,  so 
delightful,  all  passing  away  as  a  dream,  and  leaving  a 
sad  reality  like  this  ?  Make  me  one  promise ;  you 
will  not  refuse  Emma — who  knelt  by  your  side  when 
you  first  met  her,  she  who  is  kneeling  before  you 
now  ?  " 

"  I  dare  not,  Emma,  for  my  heart   tells  me   that  you 


The  Poacher  343 

would  propose  a  step  which   must    not  be you  must 

leave  me  now,  and  for  ever." 

"  For  ever  !  for  ever  !  "  cried  Emma,  springing  on  her 
feet.  "  No  !  no ! — uncle,  he  says  I  am  to  leave  him  for 
ever  !  Who  is  that  ?  "  continued  the  frantic  girl.  "  Mary  ! 
yes,  'tis  !  Mary,  he  says  I  must  leave  him  for  ever  !  "  (It 
was  Mary  who  had  just  come  into  the  cell.)  "  Must  I, 
Mary  ? " 

"No — no!"  replied  Mary,  "not  so!  he  is  saved,  and 
his  innocence  is  established  ;  he  is  yours  for  ever  !  " 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  scene  which  we 
could  not  do  justice  to.  We  must  allow  the  day  to  pass 
away ;  during  which  Emma  and  our  hero,  Mr  Small  and 
Mary,  were  sitting  together ;  tears  of  misery  wiped  away 
— tears  of  joy  still  flowing  and  glistening  with  the  radiance 
of  intermingled  smiles. 

The  next  morning  M'Shane  and  O'Donahue  arrived,  the 
Secretary  of  State  had  given  immediate  orders  for  our 
hero's  release,  and  they  had  brought  the  document  with 
them. 

The  following  day  they  were  all  en  route,  Emma  and  her 
uncle  to  Portsmouth,  where  they  anxiously  awaited  the 
arrival  of  our  hero  as  soon  as  he  had  performed  his  duty  to 
his  parents. 

We  must  allow  the  reader  to  suppose  the  joy  of  Mrs 
Austin  in  once  more  holding  her  child  in  her  embrace,  and 
the  smiles  and  happiness  of  Mary  at  his  triumphant 
acquittal ;  the  wondering  of  the  domestics,  the  scandal  and 
rumour  of  the  neighbourhood.  Three  days  sufficed  to 
make  all  known,  and  by  that  time  Joey  was  looked  upon  as 
the  hero  of  a  novel.  On  the  fourth  day  he  accompanied 
the  remains  of  his  father  as  chief  mourner.  The  funeral 
was  quiet  without  being  mean  ;  there  was  no  attendance, 
no  carriages  of  the  neighbouring  gentry  followed.  Our 
hero  was  quite  alone  and  unsupported  j  but  when  the  cere- 
mony was  over,  the  want  of  respect  shown  to  the  memory 
of  his  father  was  more  than  atoned  for  by  the  kindness  and 
consideration  shown  towards  the  son,  who  was  warmly, 


344  Joseph  Rushbrook  ;  or, 

yet  delicately,  welcomed  as  the  future  proprietor  of  the 
Hall. 

1  hree  months  passed  away,  and  there  was  a  great  crowd 
before  the  house  of  Mr  Small,  navy-agent,  at  Portsmouth. 
There  was  a  large  company  assembled,  the  O'Donahues, 
the  M'Shanes,  the  Spikemans,  and  many  others.  Mrs 
Austin  was  there,  looking  ten  years  younger ;  and  Mary 
was  attending  her  at  the  toilet,  both  of  them  half  smiles, 
half  tears,  for  it  was  the  morning  of  our  hero's  wedding- 
day.  Mr  Small  strutted  about  in  white  smalls,  and  Mr 
Sleek  spluttered  over  everybody.  The  procession  went 
to  the  church,  and  soon  after  the  ceremony,  one  couple  of 
the  party  set  off  for  the  Hall ;  where  the  others  went  is  of 
no  consequence. 

We  have  now  wound  up  the  history  of  little  Joey  Rush- 
brook,  the  poacher.  We  have  only  to  add,  that  the 
character  of  our  hero  was  not  the  worse  as  he  grew  older, 
and  was  the  father  of  a  family.  The  Hall  was  celebrated 
for  hospitality,  for  the  amiability  of  its  possessors,  and  the 
art  which  they  possessed  of  making  other  people  happy. 
Mary  remained  with  them  more  as  a  confidant  than  as  a 
servant  •,  indeed,  she  had  so  much  money,  that  she  received 
several  offers  of  marriage,  which  she  invariably  refused, 
observing  with  the  true  humbleness  of  a  contrite  heart, 
that  she  was  undeserving  of  any  honest,  good  man. 
Everybody  else,  even  those  who  knew  her  history,  thought 
otherwise  ;  but  Mary  continued  firm  in  her  resolution.  As 
for  all  the  rest  of  the  personages  introduced  into  these 
pages,  they  passed  through  life  with  an  average  portion  of 
happiness,  which  is  all  that  can  be  expected. 

In,  conclusion,  we  have  only  one  remark  to  make.  In 
this  story  we  have  shown  how  a  young  lad,  who  com- 
menced his  career  with  poaching,  ultimately  became  a 
gentleman  of  ^7000  a  year ;  but  we  must  remind  our 
youthful  readers,  that  it  does  not  follow  that  every  one  who 
commences  with  poaching  is  to  have  the  same  good  fortune. 
We  advise  them,  therefore,  not  to  attempt  it,  as  they 
may  find  that  instead  of  ^7000  a  year,  they  may  stand  a 


The  Poacher  345 

chance  of  going  to  where  our  hero  very  narrowly  escaped 
from  being  sent ;  this  is,  to  a  certain  portion  of  her 
Majesty's  dominions  beyond  the  seas,  latterly  termed 
Australia,  but  more  generally  known  by  the  appellation  of 
Botany  Bay. 


THE    END. 


PRINTED   BY 

TURNBULL   AND   SPEARS, 

EDINBURGH. 


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